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dhwty-writes · 3 years

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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

302 notes · View notes

jolinarjackson · 3 years

Note

Hey! Do you have any irondad fic recs? I just started reading Peter and Tony fics again and I would love any recs you have!

Hello!

Yes, I do! :D It's by no means complete because I am still busy compiling, but I have quite a few already.

For all the below stories, please heed the tags and warnings on AO3. And of course, feel also free to check out my stories. :)

My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolinarJackson/works

The below fics are not compiled in any particular order.

If I Die Young by MusicalLuna

Summary: Tony and Steve are trying to keep their little boy (who's not so little anymore) out of the superhero business for as long as possible, but when a kid's as stubborn as Peter is, they can't always stop him.

And sometimes things go wrong. Really, really wrong.

Categories: Superfamily, Not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: This is a wonderful whump story that I go back to again and again.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423790

-----

Lightning in a Bottle by Gruoch

Summary: Peter takes the tablet and looks down at the screen, where a picture of Spider-Man intimately entangled in a passionate embrace with Johnny Storm is displayed across the majority of the Daily Bugle’s home page. TORCH CAUGHT IN SPIDER-MAN’S WEB, the headline reads, bracketed by spider and flame emojis. Peter looks back up at Tony, who is still staring at him completely stone-faced.

Tony reaches across the island and taps the screen. “So. What do you have to say about that?”

“Well. For one, I’m a little disappointed with the headline,” Peter offers.

Tony lets his chin drop against his chest, momentarily defeated, before taking a deep breath and once more skewering Peter with a hard look. “You could have at least given me some warning that the two of you are...I mean, I had my suspicions, but—”

“You’re misconstruing the situation. Spider-Man and the Torch are dating,” Peter explains. “Johnny and I are just friends.”

“Boy, you’re really leaning hard into this whole alter ego thing, aren’t you?” Tony deadpans. “How’s that working out for you?”

Categories: Irondad, SpideyTorch

Comment: I love stories taking advantage of the havoc that secret superhero identities can wreak on romantic relationships. The best about this particular story is the witty writing, which makes Peter being a chaotic mess in this even better.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413219

-----

The doubts that complicate by @frostysunflowers

Summary: "But he’s smart!" May had blurted, looking up at the teacher with misplaced anger. "I don’t...how does this make sense?"

She was worried, unaware, unprepared, not like Peter who had known for a while that some things were trickier for him than other kids. All the rules hidden in cheerful little rhymes and singing songs about which letters get along and those who don’t play nice; all the robotic reciting of the alphabet nearly every day: none of it had ever truly helped Peter understand how it all worked.

A brand new door opened in his life that day. On the front of it, the word ‘DYSLEXIC’ was printed in bold, the certainty of what it meant holding the letters permanently in place.

Nobody ever said being smart was easy.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This is a wonderful read. @frostysunflowers manages to describe dyslexia in a way that makes the struggle understandable. The relationship between Tony and Peter is heart-warming. This is a great read if you're in the mood for something that is not too long and still want a good dosage of H/C.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989531

-----

Accepting the Tides by Emma_Anacortes

Summary: Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Categories: Irondad, Steve & Peter

Comment: This story is intense, no doubt about it. Please heed all the warnings and tags carefully. However, if you give it a try, it's so worth it. This story presents a different backstory to the relationship of Peter and his parents (especially his father) while exploring Peter and Tony forging a father/son-bond in the wake of May's death. I have to say that the the relationship between Peter and Steve in this story is just as prominent and amazingly written. I loved every second of it.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885844/chapters/26843274

-----

with arms wide open by @parkrstark

Summary: Tony and Pepper are expecting a baby and Peter may be the one most excited...just maybe…

Categories: Irondad, Pepperony

Comment: This is undeniably cute and heart-warming: Tony and Pepper get pregnant and Peter is right there with them, freaking out. Peter spends this story preparing to become a big brother while still being unsure about whether this is the role he is going to fulfill in the baby's life. This stoy focsses on the found family that is Tony, Pepper and Peter, but there are wonderful interactions with May, Rhodey and Happy as well.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540409

-----

the stars the moon they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark) by @madasthesea

Summary: It starts off with his vision fading in and out.

What kind of demon drug can make someone go blind by inhaling a single lungful? Whatever it is, Tony doubts it’s reversible. And while Peter’s no idiot, he can be idiotically optimistic. He's determined to fix what appears to be unfixable.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is experienced entirely from Tony's point of view, which make the effects of the drug and his reaction to it all the more poignant. Tony's relationship to Peter is especially highlighted in this story. You can only imagine the worry and pain Peter geos through unil the very end of the story and the pay-off is worth it. I want to highlight the way that Tony's experiecne of the effects of the drug are described here, because I thought that was superb writing and put the reader righ in Tony's shoes.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795141/chapters/36757500

-----

turn back the clock (and I'll try again in the morning) by @madasthesea

Summary: Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through.

And if that isn't bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is just SO GOOD. Not only is Peter experiencing the same day over and over again and his identity is revealed, but the way it happens also gets more and more taxing and gruesome. This story has emotional highpoints that are written fantastically and the Irondad in this is just heart-warming.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023177/chapters/42585071

-----

How The Mighty Fall by Meep_Morp

Summary: Since his duel against Toomes on Coney Island, Peter's life has settled down considerably. May knows about his double life and accepts it (mostly). Tony has welcomed him back, and given him more independence as New York's Spider-Man.

One night during patrol he crosses paths with Connor, a teenager who has Extremis in his blood and answers to the wrong kind of people. Though Tony is quick to distrust him, Peter finds himself reluctant to follow his mentor's lead, and a bond develops between the two boys. Their relationship is further complicated when Connor's former master, Negative, makes it a personal mission to destroy them both in his quest for power.

Taking down a superpowered psychopath? Tough, but Peter isn't going to back down.

Stopping Tony from blasting his first potential boyfriend into space? He might need a miracle for that.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is so intricately plotted and just a joy to read. The characters are written to perfection and this includes an absolutely fantastic and fleshed-out OC who, as a reader, you come to care about easily and quickly. Much more subtle is the relationship between Peter and Tony in this fic but every single scene is on-point. I have read and re-read this story several times and it is hard to put aside once you start.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084407/chapters/42745826

-----

Project Pride by TheSleepingOwl

Summary: In hindsight, it should have been obvious. The signs were all there, unwittingly scattered by Peter like breadcrumbs for Tony to follow—the way he would fall into uncomfortable silence when the topic of dating came up, or become flustered whenever Tony teased him about the mysterious Michelle-Call-Me-MJ character Peter was constantly gushing about, or deflect Tony’s mostly-joking inquiries into whether or not they needed to be having The Talk with a hurricane of splutters and blushes.

And even without the signs, Peter was still his kid. Tony was just supposed to know these things.

So when FRIDAY pulled up Peter’s search history—‘how can i make myself not like boys,’ ‘can you force yourself to be attracted to girls,’ ‘how to stop your friends from knowing youre gay,’ and, most devastating, ‘how can i keep my parents from finding out im gay’—Tony wasn’t surprised so much as deeply, unquantifiably ashamed. Because he should have known.

Categories: Irondad

Comment: This story is an incredibly written POV of Tony coming to terms with Peter's sexuality. It's achingly realistic in the way Tony struggles to connect to Peter, knowing that he's gay. Additionally, this story has a hefty doese of Hurt/Comfort thrown in that hurts when reading it. This is a gem.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135138/chapters/52834021

-----

Birds Eating Other Birds by aloneintherain

Summary: Peter wishes he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. Then, maybe, he wouldn’t be reduced to this - limp-crawling through the rabbit burrows that is Oscorp Tower, a monster of a man on his heels, bloody and bruised and choking on a panic attack.

Categories: Irondad, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: I love aloneintherain's stories. I read them when I first got into Avengers fanfic and the way they write dynamics is great. This one is intense and the way it's written sucks you right into it. Norman Osborn is so evil and creepy in this one. Part one is mainly hurt, but stick around for the comfort in part 2!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626433

----- And here are some Avengers team dynamic fics as well -----

It Was Probably The Pudding by Serendipity_Cometh

Summary: Given that over the course of the past eleven months Peter Parker hasn't contracted so much as a head-cold, the teenager thought it safe to assume that the whole 'irradiated spider bite' gig had equipped him with an immune system of steel that rivalled Captain America's.

So when he wakes up one night in the midst of the worst asthma attack he's suffered in almost eight years, neither he nor the rest of the team can think of a logical explanation.

And everything sort of goes downhill from there.

Categories: Team, Stony, Clint/Phil, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: When I started out reading Avengers fanfictions, I stumbled across this one and go back to it on a regular basis. Lots of whump and great team dynamics.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953538/chapters/1865305

-----

In the Home by aloneintherain

Summary: The Avengers have been infected, turned violent and aggressive against their will. And Peter, the only one unaffected, is trapped inside the Tower with six feral teammates.

“Natasha,” Peter says cautiously, “what happened here? Steve attacked me, and if there was ever a sign that something was wrong, it’s having the embodiment of Truth, Justice, and the American Way throw you across the room -”

Natasha comes closer, her stride controlled. Nothing necessarily out of the ordinary, but there’s something in her face, in her eyes -

Natasha lunges across the space, and slams into Peter, hard.

Categories: Team, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: One of my very early reads when I started out in the Avengers fandom. Excellent whump, hurt/comfort and team dynamics.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388563/chapters/12446069

-----

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain

Summary: Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Categories: Team, not MCU!Peter Parker

Comment: There are so many "Peter trapped under a building"-stories out there but this is the one I read first and it stuck with me. Loved the team dynamic in this.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232937

28 notes · View notes

mallowstep · 3 years

Note

I’m thinking about writing a short OC piece about Windclan and I’d love to see your notes about its culture and the hymns you’ve written so far, everything you’ve done for Windclan appreciation month has really inspired me :)

hello anon!

alright, first things first: please send me ur piece when ur done if you're comfortable doing so! i will publish it from you, or if you don't want to be associated with it in Any Way, i will also just read it and add it to the queue with no indication why it's there. or if you don't want me to share it at all, i'd still like to read it.

as for your ask,

hymns?

i'm working on it. however, underneath the read more, i'll include a few snippets for u.

culture

alright, i'm just going to post links with some commentary as i go. feel free to ask any more questions you have.

windclan (search) | windclan (tag) | wcam tag | five clans (narrative essays)

i would link the elders den, but there's no windclan stories in there ATM.

moving on, i'm just going to go through posts in reverse chronological order.

tallstar taking a mate admittedly, this is more about cats and sexuality than windclan, but i provide the commentary that windclan...has a particular view on sexuality and fluidity. one thing i haven't explored but should is the role visiting cats have in windclan.

whoops that's a code word, my plug for solacefruit has been activated. okay, as you may be aware, based on the fact that i have a whole tag for it, i'm obsessed with solacefruit. now, i love everything they do, but i would like to point you particularly to "make a mighty sound" for a fantastic exploration of this idea.

i don't want to spoil anything, but i do think windclan, and maybe cats as a whole, but windclan has a certain view towards relationships that very much breaks them into pieces. i'm a "love is a verb" person, so the idea that you can grow to love someone romantically by going through the actions of love makes sense. not to say you will, but you can.

(to be clear i'm not out advocating for arranged marriages just saying that they can work, they're not destined to be bad, and there's a difference between forced marriage and arranged marriage.)

anyway.

this was a lot of words to say, cats do not have a human (and particularly, western/american) understanding of relationships, which makes analyzing them in those terms difficult.

early hymn talk i'll probably say more below, but it is here.

general ibtwicm notes might get you into the headspace for some of my choices in ibtwicm.

i don't have a ton to say because this pretty much all holds, but uh, yeah.

poetry and language this isn't strictly about windclan, but it does explain some of what i think about when writing hymns.

obviously, i'm writing english translations, but these general themes are what i have in mind. it's also part of why i say i don't think i'll ever release a "full hymnal" for windclan, because i don't know if my weak worldbuilding heart could take it if i only had translations.

names part two very much not about windclan, but just some thoughts on names. as i've said before, i support all names and worldbuilding equally, but if you want my thoughts on names, go buckwild.

clan culture fic rec list just stuff i think does a good job, if you want other sources of inspiration.

general clan culture notes this is really old, but it mostly holds.

i've obviously expanded a lot on windclan since i wrote it, so shrug? idk man.

alright, i'm going to move into hymn discussion below the cut, but best of luck! and i hope u have a good time. it makes my brain shut down to read that i inspired you, straight up got brain juice pouring out of my ears, but i'm really, really happy to hear that.

windclan holds a special place in my heart. (i know my oc avatar is from skyclan shhh it's because of the backstory he sees ghosts.) but i grew up in this super sporty household as a lil asthmatic klutz, and running was a sport i couldn't mess up, so of course windclan appealed to me.

they're actually third on my list of favorite clans, but they. it's a special place in my heart that they hold, especially after reading dawn of the clans and moth flight's vision, where i got an asthmatic cat and an adhd cat, both in windclan.

god i should reread dotc it's good.

alright, here's the deal on hymns: i am not going to fight to get duets to post correctly. there's a 0% chance i can in tumblr's wonky ass new editor with no markdown, not to mention how difficult it would have been in the old editor. so i'm going to talk a lil about what i've got, and post some stanzas that i think don't get explored a lot in ibtwicm.

we're discussing these in the order that they go in. a reminder that these are all sections of one epic poem. that said, i don't know where the gaps are. like, i don't know what's between these, if that makes sense.

the wind

the wind, the very first hymn. this is an ode to, well, windclan. it's a song about everything that makes them them. it's filled with poetry about the wind, about the seasons, and it's just...well, it's a bit of a genesis, in a way.

The wind — like the rain, like the river — calls the name of each star in its breath. The wind — like the earth, like the stone — anchors us to our home. The wind — like the sun, like the sky — is knowable only by name.

i wanted to share this stanza because the last line doesn't show up in ibtwicm (at least so far, i cut the reference), and it really, really, makes a difference imo.

anyway, windclan is basically tying the wind in with every other fundamental part of their life here.

they are the wind, and that's that.

the hare

okay, this one has a line that comes up a lot in ch1, but i already talked about that, so instead, i'm going to talk about this stanza

Speak of the earth and the dens, and you will be answered: By the call of the howling gales, the open earth singing in response. But speak of that which grows above, of the grass and field, And you will be answered by the softness of the buds and the roots.

okay, we get deadfoot thinking about this when he's talking to yellowfang.

i like this stanza because it really tells us what the hare is about. now, hares are not something windclan catches. hares are huge, y'all, there's no way they take one down. i take liberties with ecology, but not that many.

(i.e., a team of cats definitely could take one down, but i know too much, and would prefer letting team hunting stay a plot thing, and not fundamentally alter the environment in the way it would.)

now anyway, all of these hymns come from the time of the tunnelers. and the point of this is, even though the work of tunnelers and moor runners is disconnected, they fundamentally affect each other.

a moor runner must trust the hollows of the earth beneath them won't collapse, and a tunneler must trust that the prey they chase up will be caught.

it's all very symbiotic and is, well, in a way, a love poem. plus i really like the line "the open earth singing in response"

of the warrens

so this has one line, one you might not even know is a hymn, in ch1, but i'll share the whole stanza.

And as for the subject of fallow fields: Fallowed fields make for hungry prey, Yet hungry prey makes desperate rabbits, Who leap into our claws.

and ig my big point is, the hymns are a cultural artifact. just like many of the rules in the old testament have to do with hygiene things being codified into religion, this whole hymn is about hunting advice.

the moon on the river

okay, out of all the hymns, this is the most complete, and because ashfoot and deadfoot sing it together, and deadfoot discusses it, i only have one stanza to share.

Under the coldness, you shine back at me, And I do everything to keep the clouds from threatening you.

now, this poem is about love, grief, and being separated. it's a particular kind of grief, and windclan discourages grief, so this is one of only a few ways to really, fully express it.

and this section, in particular, is about love in times of hardship.

i don't have. a lot to say here. but the way hardship changes how you love someone can be particular and intense.

(temporarily, this happens sometime before "Spare for my chosen few / All I have is given towards the distant ground.")

the gorse in the wind

oh shit! i have so fucking much to say okay first.

the series title does not come from this hymn.

second, this is a challenging hymn okay. fuck. i have so much to say. where to start so! moors are actually relatively wet. think british countryside, not, like, a cool desert.

this is something i always knew? i read the secret garden a lot as a kid. but. i've seen stuff about moors being dry, and it's just one of those things that really...starts to eat under your skin. anyway.

okay, so. gorse is a dry plant. it does not like rain. it grows in sandy soil, etc etc, and yet. aside from everything we know about gorse and warriors, it also grows in this moor. because i say so.

okay, so. so so so. the lines quotes here are really deceptive, and i bet no one understood why, and that makes me just a little sad, but i couldn't find a good way to explain it in text, so uh, yeah, anyway. there's an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot: "THE GORSE: You called me the heather and I grew stronger. / THE WIND: I called you the heather and brought rain for you to grow."

so...so do you see? do you see the point? it's about communication, needs, challenging each other. fadskj;l i love this. okay, so. the point is that heather is fragile, soft, pretty, and gorse is the opposite. the part of the wind is trying to be kind and complimentary, but the gorse is saying, fuck that, you are not being kind to me by undercutting my strength.

anyway, this passage is sung by the gorse:

In what good company have I set down roots, That even through snow fall I flower. You called me the heather and yet I've weathered, Far more than your sweet-named love.

so uh, yeah, this adds context. gorse! gorse is a hardy plant that continues to flower basically all season round. it's cool. it's cool. gorse is super cool. fuuuck y'all it's such a small thing and i've contained talking about it until now, but now it's too much. the floodgates are open, and i thought about this small detail too much.

okay. deep breath. gorse is a really easy plant to grow, but it's still adapted for dry environments. so the "even through snow fall I flower" part is a little tongue in cheek: gorse itself will flower in the cold, but snow is a type of precipitation, which as we've covered, is not gorse friendly.

then we have some rhyming and puns in the next line, and finally, "yet I've weathered, / Far more than your sweet-named love." like. yes. love as a form of softness is not necessarily helpful.

i mean, consider the damaging "soft trans boi" problem. same energy.

right. okay. so we've got all that? now if you remember, this is sung when deadfoot thinks ashpaw doesn't respect him, and ashpaw says she'll sing with him if she can sing the gorse, so in essence, she's telling him...not to back off, per se, but that...she is the "hard part" of the relationship. like, okay, i refuse to even bring up gender roles in human relationships, but uh, her point is very much, "i am the gorse, and you are the wind," and it's a very monumental moment.

it's anchored, i believe, in the other scenes, but this is a small thing that matters a lot to me.

like a lot.

okay, now that i've talked about like four lines for the length of this entire post, moving on.

the heather and earth

okay, this is the last hymn i have in concrete terms, and i cut a bit of it from the latest chapter, so yeah. it's also, uh, okay everything i have for it is only a line or two, but i wanted to share this closing line (sung together):

Sing a song of forgiveness, of growing together, and we will make madness, And madness from hence will everything beautiful grow.

and i just like these lines. they got cut, it was initially part of an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot, but i can't share the part of it they talk about, because i'm reusing it for a later chapter and i'll 100% spoil shit if i try to talk about it.

but these lines? mmm they speak to me.

i don't have a ton to say about them, but i just. i like it.

if we apply the same ecology discussion from the gorse and the wind, we see heather is a plant that grows in acidic, infertile soil, and heath (which is not the same as a heather, but also kind of is) is a defining quality of heathland, which is...i'm not kidding, it's hot discourse about the difference between moorland and heathland.

i'm not getting involved, but my point is, if the gorse in the wind is a hymn about finding a working relationship, about mutual respect, etc., then the heather and earth is a hymn about working well together in a terrible situation.

god.

uh, wow! can you tell i like plants? because while parts of my ecology are dubious (see: everything regarding the rabbits in ch1), the plants part are well thought out. this shit is carefully detailed metaphor.

and that's why i won't be releasing a full hymnal. it's hard to as on top of this as i want to be. i'm not kidding, writing even four lines of a hymn usually takes me about twenty minutes, because i pull up a lot of research about how things work, how they interact with each other, etc., and then there's wordsmithing, cat worldview filter, etc.

but i hope this overview of what i've got is a good insight into my general thoughts. and i will eventually release more and more of the hymns i've got written.

#ask #anon #mine #txt #windclan #wcam #essay #long #warriors #warriors worldbuilding #windclan hymn project #mateo fanboying over solacefruit again

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notaheronoravillain · 3 years

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Headcanon for Manwë and his happiness?

-@outofangband

Okay, I will be specific about this topic but here is the summary and conclusion : Basically the Solace and no conflict must be ensured for Manwe to be happy and furthermore, his reputation should be good. If those things are ensured, he is A+okay, cal, reserved and happy in my HC. The detailed version is under there and I devided this since it is very long.

**When you read this, please consider that I am a ‘true neutral’ alignment by some faith of mine and I really try my best not to act upon my emotions in real life but I think I already failed at that when I was writing this. But well I really want you to know that I don’t hate Manwe at all since he is just a character and can’t do no harm to me at all.**

(CW:This thing contains my own lifelong experiences and trauma as an INT- person, when you read ‘the comparison between Manwe and Melkor’, there it is. Please pass it if you are triggered but I can’t explain this properly in short message but : they just tell INT- people to shut up and care for their feelings but they don’t do the same for them. Just demanding them to do so but not giving them in return.) < - Also with a biased view on MBTI stereotypes.

First, I want you to know of my HC for Manwe’s personality to talk about this. Personality takes a big part of the definition of one’s ‘happiness’, so I really needed to tell you this.

I really think Manwe is a stereo typical INFJ so that means he has a big tendency to seek solace and peace. Those people tend to be reaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllly sensitive around there environment surrounding them and I can really tell this since one of my closest friend is an INFJ himself. So, basically he needs solace and peace to be reseved self. Since introverts are said to be ‘tend not to express their thoughts or feelings outwardly’ and most INFJ people tend to wear mask very very skillfully not much people will notice if he is shaken or not, but he himself knows that so he will try hard not to lose himself so he will try hard to keep calm, which can mean, he will ‘moderate’ inhabitants of Valinor.

INFJ traits to wear mast masterfully makes him look like an innocent, calm, kind and fair ruler but in fact, those things are mask after all. Mask can resemble one’s true self for some parts and that can be intended but anyways, I don’t think he is the ‘good’ person to be a king because we all know what he did to Feanor. Even if he couldn’t get an idea to solve the problem, it was his responsibility to make things right not just oversee that and cry over Feanor threatening Fingolfin . < Yes, that is the moment what I thought Manwe tried really hard to gain his good image over all people and he was afraid of his mask being slipped off. After the first kinslaying, Namo cursed the Noldor who had fled to Endor and I think if Manwe was really the good, kind king as he claimed to be, the curse may have been subtler than it should be.

So, secondly, this is why I think he grew up to be like this in my HC : Since the beginning of the time, his older brother, Melkor made a mass every single time he was with his kin and Manwe, the future king needed to clam down those angered by Melkor (Although I don’t think Melkor is evil and he is just a doomed idealist and just an outcast with a big horn effect on his reputation) so he became really sick and tired of his responsibility by the time when Melkor fell down the both of the lamps and Varda, who really does everything to block in Melkor’s way (I love her so much and you know this) keeps on and do Manwe’s work instead of him and that makes her the most revered of the Valar. The mighty Queen, who is able to do everything for her people. Who chose to be the shield against the threat. Yes, Manwe is the King but I think Valinor is a society with constitutional monarchy. The King is the symbol of Eru’s blessing all over Aman, the true ruler is his consort. And I think that can explain why those people in that world calls for Varda more than Manwe. He may be a good advocate for Eru’s will since he is made to be so but the ‘good’ in Tolkien’s world is just an ideal and I think it is not suitable for the politics. (And sadly, politics needs some necessary evil and I think Varda was really good at sugar-coating that with the Dogma. Which Melkor failed miserably due to his Horn effect of his reputation) By this, he can still take his mantle, and do nothing to trouble himself and his name, the blessed and perfect. If someone does nothing, nothing changes and it is peaceful. They can manage to keep their own good reputation as it always was. So I think that was why Manwe tended not to move by himself if compared to Varda and Melkor. His older brother needed move on just to be a king of his own right so he had to fight the world so he will have a big notoriety over his name and since that one is his bro and they resemble each other in their essence it will be much wiser to be like this. If he makes a move and fails to get a nice result, it will ruin his name because of this and this proved to be somewhat right by the Silmarilli-incident.

For more specific about the comparison between the brothers, I think Melkor, who is an INTP in my HC has realllllly bad social interaction with others since they don't mind what other's feel about their words and tend to speak the 'facts' (*but really, feelings never change all those facts I'm not sorry about this as an INTP_INTJ person and those angered ones never care about the feelings of people who told them the facts which annoys me to hell) And as many younger siblings watch them grow as an outcast because of this, the younger ones tend to have a really good social image. They never do that and 'care' for other's feelings so they all called as the 'good' ones. Some may say that can be a part of the leadership but to be a leader it needs much more than that and also, if someone is a thinker they really tend to think over other’s mechanism over feelings (and if they don’t they are not going to survive at the cold, hard reality. I ensure you this since I am that person.) they know that things by head even if they don’t really understand ‘why the hell are those people are angry over my actions’ but ‘to keep myself in better state, I will just shut up and pretend to understand you.’ (but seriously, those angry reactions makes them confused but no one ever cares for them and just tell they are bad and respect others feeling but they NEVER respect them after all and also their actions are likely to merely hurt just temporary ‘feelings’ not cause some big catastrophe over others’ life but yes the others tend to give them a big PTSD because of this and blame them not to respect them.) <That means, yes Melkor may learn the feelings to survive and if you really need to be a ruler you need to be a good strategist youself even if you have some other ones. So I think Melkor was a more of a suitable king who makes a much better politician and in my HC Varda is the best of these things. (+Also I always thing if Melkor was not brainy one himself, he wouldn’t even manage to survive. He really need to be cunning as hell and is really likely to be a good intellect. Otherwise, he won’t be able to manage all those things even if he have other people -including Mairon and Langon- helping him< For Manwe, he has more supporters than his bro and he has Varda, Yavanna and Aule on his side.) <<He really need to be cunning as hell and is really a good intellect in canon.These thing can be summarized like this : if you have a older sibling who is a thinker and an outcast you learn to have a good social image by not replicate the other one and that maybe considered as a part of the leadership but the leadership is not only defined by that and you need to think very hard to be a good king. (Yes I know that tendency to use feelings over the thinking is never about the intelligence but you will need more of a thinking ability to rule over since the politics are not the game of the good wills but more like the game of the desire and power. Basically the SILM is written by the elves and if there are people, there is politics without doubt. Also religion is likely to linked to the kingship in the old days so those to can’t be separated from each other.)

+I think Manwe somewhat resembles Enlil from Sumerian mythology and that means, Melkor really reminds me of Enki (not as pervy as Enki in my HC but still) and if you know the story of the mythology, you will understand why I told so. Stern rulers really needs lots of unfaltering devotion from his people and that really need a nice image and grand authority over them. Manwe is undoubtedly the sacred and his authority is ensured by Eru himself so it is likely to be easy to maintain if there are just Ainur in Aman, but with elves that was not easy at all. I think Manwe never had expected the challenge after he got his brother under himself and he must be frightened to face the situations so he really wanted to avoid it. I think the biggest reason why Feanor and the Noldor left Aman was this. If he is the King, no matter how he is shocked and can’t think how to make things alright he NEED to be calm and strong as the ruler. There is no consideration for this because that is how the responsibility of the kings work. Noldor can be frustrated of his reaction and they may think he can’t save them from Melkor and the threat of darkness. So some of them chose to find freedom and journeyed through the grinding ice : No one can protect them in Aman and that is the same in Endor, but at least there is a freedom in Endor not like in Aman.

Yes, in conclusion, Manwe will be Happy after all these conflicts are over since there is nothing wrong in Aman but I think that is too fragile to maintain.

#HC #Manwe #I don't have a moral compass #Also plz consider I really like Melkor and Varda #I have a biased view due to my life experiences #so mind that when you read this

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rokutouxei · 4 years

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the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 11 OF 22

I tell her, grief is not a feeling but a neighborhood. This is where I come from. Everyone I love still lives there. - brenna twohy

She wakes up with one thought: that maybe she should apologize.

She can barely get out of bed carrying said thought in her head. She knows Theo is blunt, and maybe even in some ways a little too hardheaded for his own good, but—he couldn’t have meant any harm by saying that. And she’ll be damned before she admits this to him, but in a way, she’s starting to see that he’s a little right, after all.

That maybe she’s just looking for answers in the wrong places.

But at the same time… would it have killed him to say it a little kindlier? She nearly spills her coffee squeezing her mug too tight thinking of his face up at the rooftop—the rooftop she’d so nicely brought him to even if he had no right to be there in the first place—thinking of his voice, the words he said echoing over and over in her head. She’d replayed it over too many times now that she can’t even hear clearly in her mind what was said, just that it hurt. Just that it felt like being staked through the heart.

Sure, maybe he had good intentions, but isn’t the road to hell paved with just that?

“I hate you so fucking much,” she angrily shouts to no one in particular, half-meant and half for spite, grabbing her bag to go hunting for some advice.

The inside of Theo’s mouth tastes dull and coppery; he doesn’t know if it’s from the apology resting on his tongue or from the way he bites the inside of his cheek nervously. She never misses a day of coming to the bookshop, but it is Sunday at 2 pm and she is nowhere to be found.

His hands naturally gravitate towards his phone, and in his head, he forms the text message over and over again. The simplest I’m sorry, I overstepped and the most complicated I hadn’t meant to, and I shouldn’t have done it, if you would only forgive me- they’re written and rewritten in his mind in between each time he instinctually reaches for his phone.

He never does.

For the first half of the day, he tells himself it’s because he’ll feel better about calling her to apologize, rather than just sending a message. But he never does. And even when he thinks he’s ready to send a message to ask her if they could meet instead, the courage falls apart the moment he clicks on her name on the messaging app.

He’s never been that good with his words. Maybe when he figures what the best ones to say are, it’ll be too late.

Her first candidate is Vincent.

Vincent would know what to say. Or at least, he seems like the person who would know what to say, for any moment, for any problem. He just seems like the angel who has all the answers. But at the same time, consulting about Theo for Vincent doesn’t seem like the greatest idea. Besides the fact that Theo had made a parallel between her and Vincent to drive the point home. Maybe this was something she shouldn’t bring up between the brothers. So not Vincent.

Her next candidate is Arthur.

Arthur, of course, works with Theo, and is with Theo for basically most of the week—he’s easily the only other person she knows that’s as close to Theo as Vincent. Arthur would have a mighty piece of advice for sure, especially when it comes to Theo. She’s pretty close enough to him to talk about something like this as well. But the problem is that Arthur would also have a mighty piece of mind to show Theo if she’d reached out to him, no matter how much she will say about not telling Theo. Arthur can get pretty heated, and that’s not what she wants. So not Arthur.

Her last candidate is Dazai.

Dazai is her best friend and thus will probably understand her point of view the most. He understands how much she feels about getting out of this place and how much it matters for her, and will likely stand by her side if she tells this story. Of course, this just means that his scales are unfairly tilted for her—if he decides to bust out the scales at all. He’s pretty carefree as he is, and she could already hear what he’ll tell her—to “just let dumb dog lie”, meaning, to stop if he doesn’t care about her to begin with.

And she doesn’t want to do that.

So not Dazai.

She orders a hot chocolate from a different café (Vincent might be able to catch the look in her eye, and she doesn’t want to give out a clue, not when Theo presumably also came home in a bad mood) and walks down a random street, going nowhere in particular. Sundays are her designated chill days—the days where she doesn’t do work as much as possible or at least spend as much time as possible relaxing. This is why she goes to the bookshop on Sundays. But maybe not today. Instead, she walks. And the walk is helping in clearing her head, for sure, but she really wants someone to talk to, and—

She passes by the administrative building and it clicks.

“Come in!” he calls out from inside, and she enters the room with a spring in her step to seem a little more upbeat than she actually is.

“Hello Professor Newton,” she greets, shutting the door behind her with a smile. “Am I interrupting something?”

He murmurs her name lowly in surprise before shaking his head. “Not really, may I help you with anything?” he asks, although very carefully, as if already knowing she wasn’t here on official business.

Which was great, because that means she didn’t need to work too hard to get him into the mood. “It’s personal,” she says, with an awkward grin. “Is that okay?”

She makes her way to his desk but he gets up, instead gesturing towards the sofa on the other side of the room. She’s pretty sure this sofa is not his, but instead the other professor’s—the one with the room linked to his—but hey, if it’s in his spot, right? She takes a seat on it as Isaac crosses the room to a low table.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please!”

She hadn’t expected Isaac to be so open to talking to her about something… personal. She would say they were friends, but the older man didn’t seem to be so keen on her—or maybe he’s really just a recluse. Isaac’s doing his Ph.D. in some convoluted science, a full four years older than her. And… he seems so smart.

And that’s exactly why she chose him. Isaac is easy to fluster and surprise, and sure, maybe he’s one of the more socially inept people on the campus, but he still has a warm heart—that much she knows—and good, attentive pairs of eyes and ears that make him great at giving advice. He can seem cold, but her nights with the astronomy club prove that in the right circumstance, he is anything but.

She is praying that he is the same today.

He hands her a small teacup filled with coffee, placing the containers with sugar and milk next to it. He seems to have one filled with tea in his hands, and he gingerly sits down on the seat next to her. Instantly she feels like some teenager on her first trip to the therapist, about to lay down all her worries to be unwoven together and laid down in neat, straight strings. She’s nervous, sure, but also very comforted.

Isaac clears his throat and then sighs. “I… I don’t know why you’re going to me about this?”

“I think you’ll have the kind of thing I want to hear?” she offers, but she’s not too sure either. Isaac takes a sip from his tea.

“Aren’t you supposed to go to hear advice you need, not things you want to hear?” he quips back, but then purses his lips. “But if you’re so keen, let me hear it anyway.”

She sinks into relief.

Arthur elbows Theo gently. “What’s up with you today? You’re gloomier than usual.”

“Leave me alone, Bespectacled Demon.”

“Oooh, that’s new—and spicy. Little Miss upset you over something?”

Theo glares. “It’s none of your business.”

“I see, correct again, then,” Arthur says, clapping. “You know, sometimes I have to pause and wonder what she sees in you, when you’re all prickly like that all the time.”

For a moment, Theo wonders if she’d confided to Arthur. There’s really little by way of finding out, because Arthur generally talks as if he knows about everything in the first place. And Theo wasn’t in the mood to pry, or even bend under Arthur’s curiosity. Last night went into a direction Theo would not have expected it to go to, and now—now he only feels even more protective of the girl, by her similarity to Vincent. Maybe he should have been gentler after all.

“Thinking about it, big man? I’m telling you, you have to tell her what you mean sometimes. It’s better for you and—well, it makes girls swoon.”

“Do you live only to annoy me?” is what Theo decides to answer with, pushing Arthur away.

To which, Arthur smiles, leaning against the counter. “Sometimes the things that are best for us are the most repulsive at first.”

Isaac listens to her.

She outlines as much detail as she can with her heart already thumping in her throat. About growing up, about wanting to go away. About bringing Theo up to the rooftop because being there makes her feel safe. About the conversation they had, about what it made her feel. About how Theo usually talks, about how she feels like he didn’t mean harm in the first place, but it still hurts.

And the more she says the sillier she feels because—of course she goes to a professor, goes to the singular person she knows that seems to have been shoulder-deep into academics his entire life. Why is she talking about this to Isaac? Maybe she should have gone to Dazai.

Carefully, she puts the teacup down on its saucer and takes a deep breath once all that she can say has been said. She doesn’t have the courage to even look at Isaac now, feeling like he’s looking down on her. Why wasn’t she doing something more important instead of worrying about all this—like, why isn’t she working on her portfolio for submission instead? Or maybe she can try and do extracurriculars that will make her CV do a little bit better than anyone else’s? If she’s so keen on going away, then maybe she should be working on that instead of—all this.

Worrying about one mis-said thing.

“I’m sorry, it feels rather stupid to be consulting you about this, now that I’ve had time to think about it—and do it,” she says, cringing as she does. “It was me who asked for permission for us to hang out there too in the first place… And yet here I am.”

Isaac taps his fountain pen (covered, thankfully) thoughtfully against his face. He doesn’t have a notebook with him, but he’s been twirling it between his fingers as she was talking. He says it helps him think; and at this point, it’s just a tic that he does when he’s deep in thought. This makes her feel flustered for a moment; is he really taking her so seriously? Over something so little?

“But this isn’t about the rooftop,” Isaac says, slowly. “This is about Theodorus.”

She blinks. “Well… yes, I guess,” she offers. And then: “I’m sorry, Isaac, I shouldn’t have come here after all… I didn’t want to waste your time, maybe I should have just… told you on the next session at the rooftop that I won’t be bringing him there anymore…” She closes her grip against her bag and begins to stand up. “I think that’s really all I wanted to say—"

“No,” Isaac says, suddenly, and his voice makes her sit down again. Isaac is like that, but he’s still a professor, and, well, he can have quite a voice when he decides to. “I—I mean, you didn’t… come here to tell me that, didn’t you? You came here to ask me for…” he bites his lip. “Advice.”

A flutter of joy begins to grow in her stomach. Dazai is right—it is some sort of exciting when Isaac comes out of his shell. “…Yes, if you had any,” she answers, now more steady. “Of course, if you don’t, it’s entirely alright… I just needed to tell someone, I think.”

Isaac is quiet for a moment. Then he begins. “Don’t worry about the rooftop,” he says. “Come and use it as you please—I trust you’ll be responsible for it.”

Well, that wasn’t the advice she expected. “Of course, sir.”

“I wouldn’t have entrusted the keys to you otherwise,” he says, before looking up at her. “And no sirs. I’m not— I’m not talking to you as your club professor right now. I’m talking to you as your…”

She looks up, but she doesn’t make any sound, looking at him intently.

Isaac coughs, then looks away. “F—friend.”

(A burst of color at the back of her eyes. Holy shit, screw romance, why does friendship feel this good?)

“Yes,” she says eagerly, “I never thought I’d hear that from you ever.”

He refuses to look at her and hides behind a sip of tea. When she giggles at him, he groans. “Can we go back to your problem, please?”

The tea in the pot is long cold when she left Isaac’s office, the rest of the faculty already having driven home. Outside, the streetlamps are only beginning to flicker on, illuminating the familiar avenues in their still-weak orange glow.

And she is standing outside the physics building feeling very, very small—perhaps the kind of way a culture of bacteria feels like sitting in a petri dish underneath a high-tech microscope.

Very small, and very, very seen.

Isaac had fumbled for words and stuttered and his sentences ran over each other—but he gave his advice anyway, tried to make sense of the knots of a feeling she had handed him and undo them, weave them into something a little more understandable. And yes, sure, this Isaac, bungling up his words and pausing every few seconds as if recalibrating his mind is very, very different from the Isaac she’d seen once in his higher physics classes (she and Dazai secretly sat-in: she didn’t understand a single word but it was so refreshing to see Isaac in his natural element), but it was this Isaac who was her friend, who was trying his best to help her when even he seems to be so dense to his own emotions sometimes.

She had expected Isaac to give her a new point of view; to see the situation the kind of way a hard scientist would, in between hypotheses and laws and experiments, the kind one applied the scientific method on and one could plaster many tables and charts in a paper for. Of course, since she was seeking advice, she wouldn’t have said it out loud, but deep in her heart she hoped Isaac would say something like “Ditch him” or “It was a wrong thing to say”—the kind of thing Dazai would say but at least from the mouth of a man who isn’t too obviously on her side. But instead, Isaac said:

“The longer you deny the facts the more undeniable they become.”

Said it like it was fact, like it was some sort of sure scientific law that should have been known to common man. Kind of like gravity. Said with absolute truth—said as if she should have had the basic common sense to learn about this. But Isaac had learned this adage the hard way too—in his experiments and trials when things didn’t go right, when the math didn’t add up, the harder he tried to disprove what was already there, the worse his time became.

Science isn’t about changing what is already there. It is about understanding what is, and then deciding how we can change the way we move around it, how to harness it, to make our lives a little better.

And the science of it is this: she doesn’t want to apologize to Theo. In fact, maybe she ought not to. It was him who dealt the blow, so why does she have to be the one making excuses and apologies out of it? But at the same time—she doesn’t want to also be the reason he doesn’t want to apologize. Sure, she’s hurt, but at the end of the day…

She still wants this friendship back.

Theo is good company and she’d love to have him back.

Luckily, she knows just the right way to science their way back into friends.

She’s always in the bookshop on Sundays.

Even in the worst of weather. Even if she doesn’t have to buy anything. Even if all she’ll do inside is look at the fresh stock in the New Reads section for an hour and then go home.

She comes on Sundays and Wednesdays, no other days of the week.

So when she doesn’t come on Sunday, Theo feels a little unsettled.

And when she comes in on a Monday—Theo is even more taken aback.

She doesn’t peer through the window to check inside like she usually does, just hops off her bike once she rounds the corner, locks it into the bike rack (sadly out of Theo’s vision, so he doesn’t get to actually gauge her expression before she comes in) and then pushes the door open; the bells on the doorway tinkle when she does so.

Theo tries to put a little pep into his voice when he says “Welcome to Dragon’s Hoard,” but the only thing the dragon in him is hoarding right now is … well, remorse.

It’s an off hour for her too—four in the afternoon, perhaps after class?—but it doesn’t seem to matter to her as she strides right up at the register. It’s a good thing Arthur went out to get them some coffee a few blocks down, so Theo is alone.

“Nice weather today, huh?” she says by way of greeting, once she gets there. It’s not bad. Rather windy, and she’s definitely got on extra layer of outerwear on for the temperature.

But she’s not here for the weather and he knows.

He was preparing an apology, to be rather honest—and he didn’t feel like he could get away with a simple I’m sorry, not when he ran his mouth like that. He hadn’t finished thinking about said apology though, and Arthur was already teasing him for spending so much time zoning out thinking of how to appease the “Little Miss.” No matter. Despite the unreadiness, Theo attempts to form words anyway: “Look, I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking her straight in the eye to make sure she sees he means it. “I said too much and I didn’t consider. I shouldn’t have.”

“Thanks,” she says, beaming at him in a way he thought she would never let him see again. “That means a lot. Sorry for running out on you like that, too.”

“You had every right to.”

“Still, it wasn’t the right thing to do.” She takes a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve been chewing on it for the past few days and… you were only looking out for me, and I wanted to thank you for that. Couldn’t have killed you to say it a little more gently though.”

He grimaces. “I’ll try better.”

“Thanks, Theo,” she says with a smile. “I kind of don’t want to say it, but I also think you’re kind of right about it, actually.”

“About what?”

“About why I want to go away and all that.”

Theo only nods quietly, watching as she stares out the window like she’s deep in thought. Sometimes he wonders what kind of things are actually going on in that mind of hers. She seems to always be considering something for the future—never stopping in one place.

“Maybe you are right that I don’t really need to go away,” she says, still not facing him. “Maybe I’m just psyching myself out for an out there that isn’t really as good as I dream it will be. But you know? Maybe it’s a lesson I’ll have to learn on my own.” She turns to him with that confident expression on her face again. “Maybe I’ll need to go away and then consider staying. Think you can live with that?”

He snorts. He doesn’t mean to, but it comes out of him, and with that sound he feels like they’re back to before once again. “You make it sound like I have a choice in this matter.”

She laughs. “Hmm, well you do, but you’ll have to work a little harder than that to get me out of your life now that we’re friends. Just wanted to say thanks for putting that thought in me, yanno?” She cocks her head to the side. “...And, really. You were the first person I wanted to tell about me passing the first round and all that. No spite this time.”

And it feels right to tell him. She hadn’t gotten to because she felt like she wanted it to sink in first, and then they got into the fight before she was able to tell him at the rooftop, but—it feels just right as breathing to be telling him about this. Sure, he’s supposed to be nothing more than a distraction, but he’s proven himself to be a very worthy distraction, so full of intellectual discourse and banter from the beginning. This isn’t going the way she thought it would be going but it’s a good place. Besides, now she knows—that Theo just wants the best for her.

But before Theo can say his congratulations properly this time around, she says, “I was thinking, maybe you could save your claps and instead help me get a book…”

A ten-minute argument over student discounts, staff discounts, and what friendship ought to actually mean later, it is decided, by way of Theo’s gratefully granted apology, that she gets to go home with an anthology of modern poetry, at staff price.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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softspiderling · 5 years

Text

of broken promises and heartbreak - part two | t.h.

Summary: even after six years, forgotten feelings can return with a mighty force, but are you ready to face them?

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Songs I listened to while writing: One And Only by Adele (y’all, if you really want to get in the mood, listen to this song while reading, I promise you will cry)

Author’s Note: with all your love and support, here is the second part of this little angsty piece! I literally had to research how to do tequila shots and to smoke, I am such a goody two shoes this is embarassing. Please enjoy!

Warnings: cursing, angst, mention of alcohol and cigarette smoking

Word Count: 4,6k words

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

previously on of broken promises and heartbreak

You lean against the wall of the building, exhaling softly, closing your eyes. Even though it has been six years since the breakup, seeing Tom again really brought all sorts of feelings back, and you’ve never been able to deal with stressful situations, it’s needless to say that this is more than stressful for you.

“Y/N?” someone asks tentatively and you look up just to see the cause of the situation you’re currently in.

“Hey Tom,” you say softly, blinking in surprise as he steps closer to you.

“Can we talk?”

oOo

You bite on your lip, discomfort already seeping in your bones. Honestly, it’s a little sad how things can change. You used to feel so comfortable around Tom, able to be yourself and say whatever you wanted without the fear of him judging you.

Now you can’t even hold a simple conversation with him without feeling uneasy.

“What do you want to talk about?” you ask, smoothening your dress with the palms of your hands. Tom rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head, not meeting your eyes. “I just… It’s come to my attention that I’ve been acting like a dick earlier and I guess I wanted to apologize,” he says and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh.. Uh, it’s okay,” you answer, your smile sheepish. “I guess it’s pretty awkward, huh? I’d thought it would be better after all these years.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tom admits and tugs on the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I was really nervous, still am, by the way. Did you know that this is our first time seeing each other, since-“

“Yeah, since our breakup,” you breathe out softly and he finally lifts his head, meeting your gaze.

Your stomach swoops weirdly and you swallow it all down, willing the confusing mixture of feelings away. “I should probably head back inside, don’t want them to be worried,” you say, gesturing with your hands wildly.

You turn to leave, but freeze when you hear him calling out to you.

“Wait, Y/N.”

Closing your eyes, you let out an exasperated puff of air before turning to face him once more.

You watch him fiddle with his hands and fold your arms across your chest, shielding yourself from him.

“I just want to apologize,” Tom says slowly and this blatant attempt of trying to keep you outside really aggravated you. You pinch your arm to calm yourself down before speaking up.

“Tom, you’ve already said sorry, can I go back-“

“No, that’s not what I meant!” he snaps, interrupting you. You startle, taken aback by his outburst and he sighs, kicking at a pebble on the ground in frustration.

“What I was trying to say is… I am sorry that I broke up with you six years ago. You’ve been right about everything.”

You blink at him, holding your breath as you let his words sink in. You’ve been right about everything?

“I was young and stupid, I thought I had it all figured out, when in reality I didn’t have a clue about anything,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I am just- I am really sorry for hurting you and taking you for granted, okay, Y/N?”

Seeing Tom like this, being vulnerable and open, just talking honestly, rambling like a five year old; it shows you that the boy you’ve fallen in love with all these years ago was still inside of him. The boy you got along with so greatly, the kind of person who was a great friend before he became more than that; maybe he can be that again. A friend.

And just like that, the discomfort that you’ve been feeling around Tom, just disappears into thin air, the walls you’ve been building to keep him out slowly crumbling.

You nod quickly, a small smile growing on your face.

“Okay Tom,” you reply and drop your arms to your side. “Thank you for saying that.”

Tom swats his hand, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me. This apology was long overdue. You were a great girlfriend, I guess I just was too blind at the end. I was an idiot for breaking up with you.”

You let out an airy chuckle, happiness swelling within you. You’re not sure if you are supposed to feel so happy to hear that your ex regrets breaking up with you.

“That was pretty dumb, yeah,” you agree, ducking your head. Tom steps closer to you and puts his thumb on your chin, lifting your head gently.

“Hey, don’t,” he says softly, his index finger caresses your cheek before tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. The gesture was stupidly affectionate and when his eyes meet yours, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This is not supposed to feel as nice as it does, should it?

“I… We should probably head back inside,” you whisper softly, a flush creeping on your cheeks.

Tom nods with a smile, pulling away from you. “You go ahead, I’ll be right in,” he tells you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You turn to leave, your hand holding onto the door before you glance at him.

“Hey Tom?”

His head whips up and he looks at you expectantly.

“We cool?” you ask and he laughs, throwing his head back.

“Yeah, we’re cool darlin’.”

A giggle escapes your lips and you walk back inside, promptly bumping into someone. As you look up, you see Vica straightening her skirt, before squinting at you.

“Woah, hey- Did you just giggle? Since when do you giggle?” she asks suspiciously and you huff, squaring your shoulders.

“You look really flushed, are you okay?”

You nod, lifting your chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am fine, mom,” you reply. “What are you even doing here? Are you still waiting for the second course?”

“Second course?” Vica repeats, pinching her nose. “Y/N, you’ve been out there for an hour, we’re halfway through the third course.”

Your eyes widen. “What!? I didn’t even realize that I’ve been gone for so long, I just needed some fresh air and I kinda bumped into Tom,” you tell her nonchalantly, linking your arm with hers as you walk, but Vica gasped out a shrill: “WHAT!”, whacking you on your forearm.

“Ouch!” you yelp with a glare, while Vica pulls you to the side.

“What did you even talk about?” she wants to know, scrunching up her nose. She still hasn’t forgiven Tom for leaving you, mostly because she was the one spending a long time mending the broken parts of your heart. Vica does not need a repetition of that.

You shrug and sigh softly; you were expecting her to react like this.

“He apologized. For everything, and yeah- I don’t know. I guess we’re cool,” you recap for her and Vica snorts. “You’re cool now, huh?” she asks, one eyebrow arched. You knew what was coming.

“Y/N, he broke your heart six years ago and he’s just apologizing for it now. You just forgive him after talking to him for five minutes? Don’t you think that his timing is kind of suspicious?”

You frown at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on. You’re getting married tomorrow and he suddenly turns up, acting all remorseful and heart-eyed-“ “Heart-eyed?! And he didn’t just suddenly turn up, I invited him!”

“You know what I mean,” Vica groans.

You cross your arms and look to the side, letting the silence settle over the tense atmosphere. When you turn your eyes back to your best friend, you see that her sour expression has melted into a worried one.

“Bub, you know I am only worried for you.” Vica grabs your arms gently and squeezes. “I want you to be happy.”

“I know,” you sigh and wrap your arms around her, closing your eyes briefly. “I know what I am doing, okay? I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah, a big girl who still wraps herself in her blanket like her life depends on it when she sleeps.”

“Oh shut up, Vic. Let’s just go back before they start sending out search parties.” You say and pull your laughing friend back into the dining area, your argument long forgotten.

oOo

“Who the hell even serves Chicken Nuggets at their rehearsal dinner?”

Mid-dunk, you whirl around to see Harrison and Tom walking towards you, both with a bottle of beer in their hand.

“I do. Because chicken nuggets are delicious,” you say indignantly and take a bite out of the chicken nugget in your hand, sighing exaggeratedly.

Harrison snorts, taking a swig of his beer, while Tom watches, amusement written clearly across his face.

“I remember you always telling me that you would have chicken nuggets on your wedding menu, but I never thought you’d actually do it,” he points out and you laugh, shrugging with your shoulders.

“I’d never turn my back on chicken nuggets. Not even at my rehearsal dinner,” you joke, popping the last bite of the nugget into your mouth.

“You clearly live up to your nickname,” Tom snickers and Harrison groans, bumping the cold beer bottle against his forehead.

“Oh god, I totally forgot you used to call Y/N Nugget. Why did you have to remind me of this?” he whines and Tom rolls his eyes at him, patting his shoulders.

“What are you complaining about? That nickname was adorable.”

“Totally adorable!” you agree with your ex, the two of you sharing a laugh. As you reach for another nugget, you catch Vica watching you.

‘Heart-eyes,’ she mouths at you, waggling her eyebrows. With a glare, you snatch a nugget before turning back to the English boys.

“Pretty sure you mean nauseating,” Harrison teases and you wave the nugget at him. “Hey! Don’t make me waste any food, Haz,” you threaten him and he holds his hands up in defeat.

“Whoa, okay, I take it back. Please put the nugget down,” Harrison says and you do as you’re told, munching happily.

“So is everything alright? Do you need more food? Drinks? Anything I can take care of for you boys?” you ask, ever the caring host.

“Yeah, this one’s been wiggling in his seat for the whole time. Is there going to be any dancing tonight?” Harrison asks, while Tom jabs him in the ribs.

“Mate, shut up, you know I don’t dance in public anymore,” Tom complains and you grin knowingly. “Yeah, not until you’re at least tipsy. How many drinks have you had?” you point at the beer in his hand with a wiggle of your finger.

“This?” Tom asks, lifting the half full bottle. “Third? No, wait this is my fourth,” he corrects himself, nodding. “And you’ve had two glasses of champagne,” Harrison adds.

“Alright then. We’re only opening the dance floor after dessert, because I want to keep the event classy until the elderlies leave,” you tell them, wiping your hands on a napkin.

Harrison gasps and his hand flies to his chest in faux shock. “What do you mean, classy? Are you saying our dancing is not classy?”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Don’t even. All of your dance moves are hopeless, and so are yours Holland.”

Tom throws his hands up. “What- I didn’t even say anything. That was really uncalled for, Y/N!”

You laugh loudly and the sound of your happy, genuine laughter, catches Levi’s attention. It’s not often that you laugh like that, completely let loose and uncaring of the environment’s judgement.

Levi cherishes every time he’d get you to laugh like that, and seeing that your ex can make you laugh like that so easily, really sets something off inside of Levi. He excused himself from his college buddies to head over to where you were chatting, sidling up behind you.

“Hey babe, do you think we should call for the groom’s cake anytime soon?” he asks you and wraps his arms around your neck, kissing your head.

You look up to him with a soft smile and nod, stroking his arm with your hand.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, Levi,” you tell him, unwrapping yourself from his arms to stand up.

“I need to go take care of dessert guys, I’ll see you later,” you say to Tom and Harrison, walking off with Levi.

Tom watches you leave and his jaw ticks, before he takes a big swig of his beer, his knuckles turning white around the bottle. Harrison eyes him with worry.

“You okay, mate?”

“Just peachy,” Tom mutters, his eyes fixated on your form. It’s hard for him to see you like this; happy and in love, but not with him. He thought he could do it. Attend your rehearsal dinner and your wedding and be happy for you, but every time Levi wraps you up in his arms and holds you close, he feels like drowning, like he’s reaching for a lifeline that isn’t there anymore. It’s a little bit depressing but Tom knows that he deserves the pain, that he was the one who made the wrong decision and now it’s back to bite him in the ass.

“I need something stronger than beer,” he announces and Harrison pulls a face, but nods towards the bar, ever the good friend he is.

“This way, then.”

oOo

“I'm a sucker for all the subliminal things. No one knows about you,” you sing, pointing at Hannah.

“About you.”

“About you!”

“And you're making the typical me break my typical rules. It's true, I'm a sucker for you,” you crow out, hanging onto your girlfriends as the four of you keeled over in laughter.

It’s well into the night and loud music booms out of the speakers. Your older guests have bid their goodbyes shortly after dessert, of course not without telling you that they’re looking forward to the wedding ceremony for the next day. But for now, it’s time to party.

It’s unconventional to have an after-rehearsal dinner party, but you and Levi decided for it, since neither of you had a bachelor or bachelorette party. It’s your last night as an unmarried woman and you want to celebrate that with your friends.

Right now you are dancing and goofing around with your friends, your heels kicked off long ago. Levi keeps bouncing around you and back to his friends, though you’re not beating yourself up about it. You’ll have the rest of your life to spend with him, but right now is about you and your friends.

As the last chords of the song ring through the hall, you gasp for air, waving your hands around wildly. “I need a drink!” you excuse yourself from your girlfriends.

“It better not be a water, Y/N!” Tina screams and you laugh, flipping her off while you leave to get something to drink. Your bare feet tap against the wooden floor and as you walk closer to the bar, you can see Tom nursing on what seems to be looking like scotch.

“Hey! What are you doing here, you should be dancing.” You wag an accusing finger at him.

He grins at you, shrugging with his shoulders. “Told you I’d need more drinks than that. What are you having?”

You tap with your fingers against the surface of the counter. “Hm... I think I’ll have a mojito,” you hum and Tom waves at the bartender to order you a drink.

Lugging a stool closer to him, you haul yourself on top of it, your elbow on the counter as you lean your chin in your hand.

“You should be dancing. Where’s Harrison and your brothers?” you ask and Tom points across the dancefloor, where you can see Harrison dance with one of your cousins, while Harry and Sam goof of around them.

You grin to yourself; Harrison has always been kind of a ladies’ man. When the bartender brings you your cocktail, you pipe up. “Hey, can I have four shots of tequila?” you order and waggle four fingers in the air. With a nod, the bartender lines up for shot glasses before filling them with tequila, adding slices of lemon on the rims.

“Are you trying to get sloshed?” Tom wants to know with a raised brow and you grin, sipping on your mojito. “No, we are getting sloshed. I am getting married tomorrow and you owe me a dance. So drink up, Holland,” you demand, setting your cocktail down and shoved two of the four shot glasses in his direction.

“Are you not laying down on the countertop and letting me drink out of your belly button, you know, for old time’s sake?” Tom asks and you flush, swatting his hand.

“Shut up Tom, that’s so inappropriate!” you hiss, reaching for the salt shaker.

Tom smirks at you and dips his finger in a glass of water, before dragging it across the back of his hand, before doing the same on your hand, making you shiver. You look up at him and shake salt on the wet skin.

“Okay, you ready?” you ask, before bumping your hand with Tom’s.

“Cheers!” you say and lick off the salt, bite into the lemon slice and drink the tequila shot, shuddering at the burn the alcohol leaves in your throat.

“Sheesh, Y/N,” Tom groans, the shot glass clinking as he put it back on the counter with more force than necessary. “Since when do you drink quicker than I do?”

“It’s because I am not drinking to get sloshed. I am drinking for a purpose, which is getting you on the dance floor,” you tell him, already lifting the second shot.

Tom grimaces, picking up the second glass as well.

“If I puke, you’re gonna have to hold my hair,” he warns you and you roll your eyes, a grin on your lips.

“Yeah, whatever princess.”

Tom watches you with a funny look on his face as you lick the salt off your hand and bite into the lime, averting his gaze when his throat dries up a little. He quickly repeats the procedure and shudders, shaking his hands.

“Definitely feeling it,” he tells you and you grin widely at him, taking his hand to pull him on the dance floor.

You whirl around, giggling as you feel the effect of the alcohol.

“Come on, Tom, live a little,” you yell over the music and throw his hands up. Tom gives you an exasperated look and waves his arms in the air like an idiot.

“Oh my god, how are you such a bad dancer? Show me your Billy Elliot moves!” you demand with a laugh and he frowns at you. “You know that that was choreographed! This is different! And besides, you’re the one making me dance, love, so don’t complain about it.”

You chuckle and just enjoy being in the moment, when the music suddenly slows and the beginning of an all too familiar song slowly fills the hall.

Tensing, your eyes flit to Tom’s and he clears his throat, before looking away. So he does remember the song.

“You can go find Levi, I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice hoarse; but to his surprise, you shake your head.

“No. This is our song, I want to dance with you- if you want?” you ask, stumbling over your words.

“Of course I want to dance with you, Y/N,” Tom sighs and offers you his hand, which you take, stepping into his space.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him while you place your hand on his shoulder, the two of you swaying to the music.

You've been on my mind I grow fonder every day Lose myself in time Just thinking of your face God only knows why it's taken me So long to let my doubts go You're the only one that I want

You glance up at him and seeing his soft smile, you are overcome with emotions, so you rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes.

“I had a really good time today, Tom,” you said softly, looking at him through your lashes. You and Tom just had your first date and you were sitting in his car in front of your apartment building, Adele quietly crooning in the background. “Yeah?” Tom asked, his voice full of hope. You nodded, your cheeks flushing. “Would you, uh- Would you like to go out with me again?” he asked tentatively, knowing what he was risking.

You two had started off as great friends when Harrison introduced you. You were best buddies, sharing the same interests and morals, it wasn’t long until Tom fell head over heels for you. He tried squashing his feelings in fear of losing you and your friendship, but every time he hung out with you, he fell even harder. So he got up the nerve, risked it all and asked you out. And to his surprise, you said yes.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you answered with a big smile and Tom beamed at you, his heart almost leaping out of his chest. “That’s great! Really, really great,” he said, leaning in unconsciously.

Your eyes flickered to his lips and you waited, holding your breath, but neither of you moved.

“Oh for the love of god,” you groaned before closing the last few inches, pressing your lips against his. Tom’s eyes widened, caught by surprise, before he kissed you back, his hand coming up to cradle your face.

If I've been on your mind You hang on every word I say Lose yourself in time At the mention of my name Will I ever know how it feels to hold you close And have you tell me Whichever road I choose, you'll go?

“Wait, you’re staying five more weeks?” you asked, frowning at Tom through the screen of your laptop. “Why the spontaneous change of plans?”

You and Tom had been dating for a year when he started auditioning for the role of Spider-Man. He’s been sending in countless of audition tapes and even got the chance to audition with Robert Downey Junior. So he flew to Los Angeles, while you were waiting back at home. Of course you were over the moon, Tom had been so excited and you were so proud of him. Him getting the role wasn’t a 100% safe yet, but you had your faith in him, he was insanely talented.

“Yeah, they told me that they’d get back to me after a week and it’s been a week. I still haven’t gotten a call yet, so I’ll just stay a little bit longer, just in case,” Tom told you, combing through his hair with his hand. “Huh, I guess that makes sense,” you said and he nodded, furrowing a brow. “What’s that in the background?” he asked and you blushed, hiding your face behind your hand.

I dare you to let me be your, your one and only I promise I'm worthy To hold in your arms So come on and give me the chance To prove I am the one who can walk that mile Until the end starts

“It’s our song. I’ve been listening to it… I just miss you,” you mumbled and he cooed. “Aw, love, I miss you too! You’re so cute!” Tom laughed and you pouted. “And you just extended your stay, not cool, Tommy.”

“It won’t be that long, I promise. You’re not even going to miss me,” he assured you and you rolled your eyes. You opened your mouth to retort, but a knock at your door interrupted you.

“Who’s at the door at this time?” you mumbled with a glance to the clock. Tom just grinned at you. “You should probably get that,” he ushered you and you got up with a groan.

“Ugh, fine! I’ll be right back, babe,” you told him and went to open the door, facing Harrison with a suitcase.

“Haz? What are you doing here? It’s past twelve!” you said and he barged in with his suitcase in tow.

“You’re still not done packing, are you, Y/N? We have to be at the airport in two hours!” Harrison scolded you and you looked at him confusedly, closing the door.

“What are you talking about? I am not going anywhere.”

Harrison looked at you coolly before he grinned, showing you two airplane tickets.

“Go pack, we’re flying to Los Angeles to see Tom.”

Your eyes widened and you squealed in delight. “WHAT!? Oh my god, Haz! You’re the best!” you rushed over to hug Harrison, who laughed, patting your back.

“Don’t thank me, thank Tom. He’s the one who arranged it,” he told you, before pushing you away, holding you at an arm’s length. “Now seriously, go pack. We can’t miss this flight.”

“Yeah, yeah already on it!” you called and raced to the bedroom, beaming at Tom through your laptop screen.

“Surprise!” he shouted and you shook your head, giggling. “You’re really something, Tommy. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can’t wait to see you!”

Though the screen was pixelated, you could see Tom smile softly. “See you soon, Y/N.”

I don't know why I'm scared I've been here before Every feeling, every word I've imagined it all You'll never know if you never try To forget your past and simply be mine

As you sway to the music with Tom, your heart’s singing with happiness, you’re feeling the words of the song with every fiber in your body. With a shaky breath, you open your eyes, hoping the feeling would disappear, but when you look up at Tom, you can feel it intensifying. It feels wrong, to be wrapped up in Tom’s arms, but at the same time, nothing ever felt so right.

“Y/N, you okay?” Tom asks you worried and you give him a shaky smile. “Yeah, I am fine. I- uhm, need to use the restroom,” you say and rush off the dance floor, fleeing into the bathroom.

Heading into the stall in the far end, you crack open the window and then rummage in your purse for a small stress reliever. Even though you’ve promised Levi you’d stop smoking, you knew that this weekend was going to be stressful and hid a pack of cigarettes for emergencies. Getting lightheaded and pent up with emotions while dancing with your ex definitely classifies as an emergency, in your opinion. You hope that a smoke will help clear your head.

With a cigarette in your mouth, you lite the tip, sucking in a breath before blowing out the smoke of your mouth. You take another drag of the cigarette before you tap the ashes out the window, leaning your head against the wall. What the hell just happened in there?

You’re getting married tomorrow and dancing with your ex to your song gets you all hazy and choked up – you are pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to react like this.

It’s probably just the alcohol and your excitement of having Tom back in your life, there’s no way you’re still in love with him, right?

Finishing up the cigarette, you stub it out and throw it in the trash can, leaving the stall. You wash your hands and lean against the sink, breathing in deeply.

“You’ll be just fine, Y/N. It’s just jitters. You are not still in love with Tom. You’re in love with Levi, who you’re going to marry tomorrow,” you mumble under your breath, before looking in the mirror, fixing your hair.

Squaring up your shoulders, you push open the bathroom door, ready to head back to the party.

“There you are! I was getting worried you’d fallen in the toilet! You okay? You looked really pale when you left.”

You startle when someone jumps at you the moment you step out of the bathroom. When you realize who it is, you smile nervously, wiping your sweaty hands on your dress.

< previous | next >

A/N: Sooo, who do you think it is? *wink wink* I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think!!

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#of broken promises and heartbreak #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #own work #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fanfiction #tom holland #peter parker #softspiderling

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mithrilwren · 5 years

Text

Dedicated to my own persistent insomnia over the last number of months, and the fact that I’ve never written a Fjord-centric oneshot, which is frankly criminal. This is Fjord/Caduceus, but leaning more towards the queerplatonic side of of the die than explicitly romantic (smooches are nice but have you heard of unfaltering emotional support?) [also on ao3]

the morning calls your name (fjorclay, ~5000 words)

It’s not so much that Fjord stops sleeping. It’s more that it’s begun to taper down: the number of hours he spends with his eyes closed.

There was a time that he got a full seven hours a night, sometimes even more than that, though it seems a far off memory now. Ship life is lousy with routine, the kind that can ruin the wrong sort of man - drive him mad with boredom, or make him rabid for the first sight of land, or trouble - but for Fjord, the routine was all part of the draw. You always knew the time your shift began, and when the bell rang and your berth beckoned, you went. His body got used to that predictability. It knew how to lull itself off to sleep without his help. All he had to do was lie there, let himself be drowned in the creak of the bulkheads and the briny surfside air, and then he’d be out, just like that. There wasn’t a trick to it. It just happened.

A month ago, he would have settled for six. Now he tells himself that five is still enough to go on. Five hours is all that Vandren took - and after all, why should Fjord need more than him?

It’s when the number gets to four that it starts getting harder to convince himself that everything is the way it should be. That everything is fine, just as it is.

But, of course, he does.

—-

One night over dinner in some backwoods tavern, Caduceus catches Fjord by the wrist. “Are you running a fever?” he demands, already reaching for Fjord’s forehead with the hand that isn’t occupied keeping Fjord’s still. The spoon between his fingers steadies, and the last of its soupy contents are saved from sloshing back into the bowl, or onto the table.

Fjord hadn’t realized he was trembling quite that badly, if he’s honest.

The meat of Caduceus’s palm is cool against his skin, a soothing pressure that might have been easier to bear in a less public venue. Embarrassed, he pulls away before the others can see. Maybe he is catching ill. It could explain why his face seems determined to flash between flushed and clammy with giving him a moment’s rest, and why the shivers running down his spine are more electric than your typical chills.

Fjord puts the spoon down and places his hands in his lap. If he presses down on them, his fingers quiet a little. Better.

Caduceus lets him go without a fuss, which he’s grateful for, but… gods, he misses the hand once it’s gone. It was nice to have something to lean against, if only for a few seconds. It’s too early to go to bed, but his head already feels impossibly heavy.

“Don’t think so,” Fjord answers finally. “Must just be hungry. Low blood sugar, maybe.” He can’t pretend like Caduceus didn’t see what he saw, though he’s still hoping Caduceus might. And after all, if it isn’t sickness, maybe it is hunger. It would make sense. Food’s been turning his stomach lately, the type or quality not seeming to matter. He hasn’t really examined it too closely. He was raised a kid in an orphanage that never had enough to go around, then a sailor on a long haul vessel, where the hardtack was all that was left by the end of the voyage. A lack of appetite has never been anything but a blessing.

“Mmm,” muses Caduceus. “Then you should make sure to finish that.” He nudges Fjord’s meal towards him. The sodden vegetables that sank to the bottom of the bowl swirl in a lazy arc as it inches closer, leaving streaks of oil all through the thin broth. Fjord’s stomach does a flip.

Caduceus is one to talk, he thinks. If there’s anyone who needs a lecture on feeding himself enough, it’s their resident vegetarian. But Fjord doesn’t say that. Caduceus will (rightly) read his words as deflection, and redouble his efforts to get Fjord to finish the bowl. Which would be simpler to do, if his hands would just stop shaking for two damn seconds.

It’s a bit of a conundrum - a circular problem, really. Eat, then feel better, then it makes eating less of a trial. He just has to pick a point and start.

He reaches for the spoon. And that’s as far as he gets.

Nott and Beau are arguing about something across the table. Somebody stole someone else’s mug, there’s not enough pork belly to go around, some circumstance has off and upset Caleb; who knows what it is tonight. There’s always something to bicker about, but at least tonight it’s keeping the rest of the group’s attention occupied.

“I could help, if that would make things easier,” Caduceus offers, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, and this time Fjord’s face flushes with a definite heat. Shame slinks down low in his belly, enough to overpower the nausea in his gut, enough to spur him to pick up the bowl, spoon be damned, and swallow the rest of the broth in three mighty gulps. When he looks at Caduceus over the rim of the bowl, already regretting the decision, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s still smiling, like he’s pleased either way, so long as the soup made it into Fjord.

He definitely doesn’t feel better.

“I can feed myself,” Fjord insists, wiping the corners of his mouth with his hand. He means to be scornful; it comes out defensive. The shame coils a little tighter, curdling the soup to bile in his belly. He isn’t a child, but he’s doing a fine imitation of one.

“I know you can,” Caduceus says, unmoved. “Did it help at all?”

“Yes,” Fjord lies. Then, because he’s starting to feel like an asshole, “thanks.”

He shouldn’t have snapped. Like always, Caduceus is just trying to help. He’s not searching for ammunition, or picking him apart for things to whisper to the others: proof that Fjord is unable to shoulder his own load, yet again.

He wouldn’t do that. Others might, others have, but Caduceus won’t.

At least, Fjord hopes.

They really haven’t known each other that long.

—

It must have started with the dreams. Or… well, then again, maybe it was the shipwreck that did it. The two experiences are indelibly linked; you don’t get one without the other. Could have been either. Might have been both.

Probably both.

Either way, the months drag on, and Fjord finds his eyes opening a little earlier each night. At first, that seems like a good thing. There are things that need doing, and not enough capable hands to do them. Nobody else can mend a spoke like he can (that’s a lie - Jester’s magic does in an instant what his hands can in an hour), or keep a fire going on a damp night (that too - and Caleb doesn’t even need wood to do it), or-

There really isn’t much, is there? Things he can do, that the others can’t.

More nights than most, he ends up just lying awake as the moon glides slowly overhead, curled with his blanket below his chin and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, like a little more pressure might help him nod off for good. Occasionally, he gives up and wanders a bit off from camp. Finds a log, leans his back against it, counts the leaves in the trees above. He does his best to ignore the scratch of rough cotton against his chest, and the salty particulate that dries hard and irritating within the weave of coarse fabric, that doesn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubs. The discomfort is as good an excuse as any for why he doesn’t want to lay back down. But in general, the group doesn’t ask. Everybody has their own shit to deal with.

He does find, alone in the cool night air, his eyelids fluttering, listening to the birds greet the new dawn, that he rests a little easier. He still can’t usually sleep, but a light doze is manageable.

When there’s a tavern, he shares a room with Molly. Molly, who drinks and carouses and comes back at all hours of the night - sometimes alone, sometimes in company, always loud . And if Fjord wakes up once, that’s it for him - the end of whatever meager rest he’s managed to eke out, though truthfully, if it’s a night involving company, a hallway sit or chatting with the bartender till sunrise is preferable to being present for what follows, asleep or no.

It’s annoying at times, sure, and he begins most mornings bleary-eyed one way or the other, but it’s not that bad, all in all. The nights when Molly is present and it’s just the two of them, Fjord sleeps well, and deeply, and the dreams tend to come less often than they otherwise might.

Those are the good nights.

Then comes Shadycreek Run. Then comes Lorenzo, and darkness, and endless nightmares that spill into the waking hours, and when they all emerge into the light of day once more, Fjord can no longer bring himself to wander too far from camp at night, not without someone else watching his back.

And Molly is gone.

And Caduceus takes his place. And they all move on.

And Fjord still sleeps, on most nights. Just a little less.

—-

“Hey, there. That’s alright. That’s fine now. You want to take a few steps back towards me?”

Fjord blinks, the shattered shards of glass crystalizing in his vision into something a little less metaphorical, a little less abstract.

The cup. He dropped it.

Oh.

It’s well past midnight, though in the absent light of Rosohna, there’s no good way to tell. There’s also no good reason for Caduceus to be awake, down here, watching Fjord make a mess of things as he fumbles for a glass of water in the dark.

He’s not really sure why his eyes are burning. It’s just a glass; they have twenty, of all shapes and sizes, and none of them expensive. What a stupid thing to be upset over.

He’s just tired.

He’s just tired .

“Fjord?”

Oh, right. Caduceus is still standing there, waiting for Fjord to back away from the hazardous region now strewn across their kitchen floor, like a normal person would.

The first step is easy enough to keep steady. The second is harder. Caduceus grabs a hold of his shoulders by the third, guides him into a chair that definitely wasn’t there a moment before. “There you go,” Caduceus encourages him. “Let me just get that cleaned up, ok? Just a couple minutes. Don’t go anywhere on me.”

Fjord opens his mouth - to offer to help, or to apologize, he’s not sure which - but his tongue is lead-weighted, his throat too closed off to form sound. Caduceus grabs a broom, and Fjord takes deep breaths, and watches someone else clean up his mess.

“Thank you,” he says as Caduceus pads back over his direction after depositing the broken glass into a basket by the door. His feet are bare, but he doesn’t seem worried about any shards that might remain. “You didn’t have to do that.” Vandren’s accent cloys in his mouth, too difficult to maintain properly at this time of night. His ‘r’s are beginning to morph into something smooth and clipped, rather than long and drawling, and his words come slower as he tries to choose simpler ones, the kind that don’t require an effort. “You should… bed. Sleep. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.” Shit, he almost made it, but that last one nearly ended in a flipped tongue. Fjord shuts his mouth before it can betray him any further.

“I’d offer you a metaphor about glass and houses, but it seems a little too on the nose,” Caduceus teases. He goes to the wall and lights a little lantern, summoning a dim glow that neither of them technically need to see, before kneeling in front of Fjord’s chair. Caduceus’s height being what it is, that brings the two of them just about to eye-level. “May I?”

Fjord nods, not quite knowing what he’s agreed to, but feeling it’s owed, regardless. Caduceus places a few fingers beneath Fjord’s chin, turning it this way and that, tipping his jaw back to expose Fjord’s throat in a way that sends his blood singing from root to fingertip. When he swallows, his gorge rises against the soft fur that carpets Cadcueus’s knuckles. He shivers - not quite afraid, not quite not.

“Can you look down at me? There. That’s perfect.” Apparently, Caduceus finds what he’s looking for with little effort, because he barely meets Fjord’s eyes longer than a moment before his gaze shifts away. Or maybe Fjord’s does; it’s hard to tell. He’s been having trouble keeping his eyes focused, recently.

“What- what was that for?” Fjord stumbles, trying and failing to land in the realm of ‘curious’ rather than ‘irrationally frightened’.

“I was just wondering… hmm. Did you know, you can tell a lot about most animals, just by looking at their eyes?”

“I... did not.”

“Oh yes. If an animal is fatigued, or in distress, their pupils tend to dilate and contract rather rapidly. Haven’t you noticed?” If this is an allegory that ends in his health being measured against Jester’s weasel, he’s laying full claim to the right to quit the team for good.

“Can’t say that I spend a lot of time looking into animals’ eyes.”

“I highly recommend it.” Caduceus cocks his head to the side, pausing to mull over whatever his next words will be. His shock of pink hair tickles the edge of Fjord’s collarbone. Fjord swallows again. “Your eyes are telling me quite a bit, Fjord.”

Maybe there’s a bit of animal in him after all, because Fjord’s first instinct is to bolt like a cornered one. “Like what?” he asks, a question he doesn’t want the answer to.

“That this isn’t the first night you’ve been up wandering at all hours. That you could use a little more sleep than you’re getting.”

Fjord huffs a laugh, then forces himself to shuffle the chair back out of Caduceus’s reach and stand. Caduceus follows suit, quick enough to block Fjord’s path before he slips out of the kitchen. He’s lithe, but tall and long-limbed, and Fjord would have to shoulder-check his way out to get past him. He doesn’t think Caduceus would put up a fight. He wouldn’t force him to stay.

There’s no reason to feel as trapped as he does.

“I should probably get to bed, like you said,” Fjord offers weakly.

Caduceus doesn’t move aside. “Will you sleep, when you’re there?” A whine is building up in Fjord’s throat, desperation and frustration mingling into something easier to call anger than dread.

“As much as I ever do,” he forces through gritted teeth, not quite there enough to lie. “Let me past, will you?”

Caduceus’s willowy arm branches towards the doorframe - at first a barrier, and then an acquiescence. A beckoning, guiding Fjord through. “...Go ahead.”

Would you come with me?

The question is so unexpected, even in his own mind, that it startles him back into some measure of wakefulness. Once he has it, it rests on his tongue like a buzzing insect, begging to be set free. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest since Molly died, and Caduceus wouldn’t read the same implication into the question as others might- But it’s too late to ask for that now. It’s all too late.

When they first got this house, Beau and Jester claimed a room together, like there was no question that one would stay without the other, and he really had wanted his own space back then, he had wanted it, had been desperate for it, because it was safer to be on his own - less time he had to spend hiding the salt-water stains, and the accent slips. He wanted it, and he can’t complain now about loneliness when Caduceus is already gone and settled into his own private sanctuary on the roof, when it’s all been decided and laid down in stone. The sheer neediness of the request chokes him. He can’t always be the one asking for help. He can’t be-

Fjord-

He can’t-

Fjord…

He can’t-

“Fjord.”

They’re at the top of the stairs.

How did they get there?

Caduceus is still at his arm, still talking. “Will you be alright?”

“Always am,” he says mechanically, because it’s true. He’s kept going this long.

There are blankets being handed to him, hands guiding him into bed, hands smoothing back the hair from his forehead. His mind leaps about, springing from one thought to the next with alarming speed, and the one incredulous thought at the center of it all: that he used to want something like this, in the years before he taught himself not to want anything from parents that were never coming back.

“I could stay, if you’d like.” Did Fjord say it after all, then? He doesn’t think so. He would have remembered - but the trip from kitchen to bedroom is still rather hazy. “Do you want me to stay, Fjord?” Caduceus asks again, uncertain, like he doesn’t already know the answer to his own question. That’s a first.

“M’ fine,” he mumbles into his pillow. Now that it comes down to it, the prospect of having someone else there when he wakes goes back to being terrifying, though the reason why eludes him, lost somewhere in the sparking cavalcade of exhausted thoughts. Maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe he’s just scared of everything. That tracks.

“... alright.” Caduceus isn’t pleased with his answer. That tracks too. He’s not usually good at giving them. He’s not usually good...

“Sleep well, Fjord.”

And he does, for the hour or so before another dream comes, and when he wakes it’s to the visage of a yellow eye burnt into his eyelids. But somewhere beyond that, in the periphery, there’s another sight too: the memory of two pink irises, and a soft hand against his throat, so different from Avantika’s sharpened nails or Uk’otoa’s slithering grip.

It’s been a while, since someone has touched him there, and not meant for him to choke.

—-

It’s fitting, he’ll think many years later, that the end of it all came in a dream too. That he should have woken again in the ocean’s embrace, but safe on dry land as well. The kelp that embalms his limbs protects rather than pulls: warding against an icy death, rather than dragging him to it. There is no struggle to reach the surface - no call to fight, to destroy, to dominate, to consume. There are only gentle words, gentler warmth, and an ever-greening light - not a promise of salvation, but a path towards it.

He dreams, for as long as it takes for his friends to pull him from his cocoon. Once he’s finally found his feet again, his legs are stronger beneath him than they’ve ever been. When he reaches out to summon the sword, his fingers are steady. No hint of a tremor in his wrist.

It feels like being awake, for the first time in a long time.

—-

They take a long, long rest in Halas’s armory, or what’s left of it. Honestly, Fjord would have rather kept going. He’s all too cognizant of the time that’s passing in the outside world. The last time the group went on an indefinite sojourn into the unknown, they came back to find Felderwin in ruins, destroyed in their absence. He hasn’t forgotten how Nott could have lost her husband and child for the sake of his stupidity, his hubris. How they all could have brought about the end of the world if he’d just pushed it a little farther. How even now that he’s left that life behind, even now that the Wildmother has - somehow, impossibly - deigned to make him her paladin, he still has a lot to make up for.

The rest of the party is already asleep, all pressed to the edges of the dome like fish in a barrel, circling Caleb’s huddled form beneath the apex. Even in the faint light from the glowing runes of the two magical ballistae, Fjord can make out the beginnings of an angry bruise at the base of his throat, where the golem’s collar snapped shut and bit into the flesh. Caleb’s hand twitches every so often towards the injured spot, worrying the absent collar even in sleep. He understands; Fjord doubts he’d be able to forget something like that any quicker than Caleb.

From his perch in the gunner’s nest, there isn’t much to see - just a closed door to the tower, and the still-smoking remains of the golem at its foot.

Off.

Who knew it could be that simple? One word from Caduceus, and the lights go out. If he’d known, he thinks with more humor than bitterness, he might have asked Caduceus to try it on him months ago, just to see if it stuck.

Fjord told the others that he didn’t need to rest with them, that he felt fine. And it was true, truer than it’s been in a long time. He’ll be tired when the party wakes, but not deliriously so. That’s the thing - when you get enough sleep on the regular, missing a night or two here or there isn’t unbearable.

And funnily enough, he has been. Sleeping, that is.

At first, he thought the shift was Melora’s doing - a depth of dreaming she invoked to keep Uk’otoa’s eyes off him. He was alright with it being nothing more than her failsafe against his being taken back - anything for an extra few hours of shut-eye. But the change wasn’t all at once, a one and done thing. There are still plenty of nights that he tosses and turns, wakes sweat-soaked and exhausted, paces the length of his room while he waits for a socially appropriate hour to start on breakfast. Still, he’s found that not dreading the mornings to come is helping at lot with staying asleep. There are still problems and worries to face when he gets up, but far fewer that he has to handle on his own.

He didn’t really realize, until now, how much the facade was taking out of him.

Though he wishes he could, Fjord doesn’t meditate the way Caduceus does, at least not when he’s alone. He’s tried before, but he never seems to know the right words, the right rituals, the right state of mind. But he’s learning. He’s getting there. In the meantime, Fjord does what he can: he thinks the night away. He ponders lakes and dustlands and marshy swamps; all the places they’ve been, all the ones they haven’t visited yet. He hears her voice in the remembrance of crashing waves, and calls that close enough to worship.

He thinks, for him, it is.

When the rest of the party finally comes to, Fjord hasn’t slept a wink. Still, he doesn’t feel exhausted. He’s fine, actually.

And you know what? This time, he really might be.

—-

The girls have their tattoos finished by the time the three of them return to the ship, bellies heavy with greasy food and hearts a little lighter. Caleb goes to check on Nott, already asleep in their room, and a wincing Jester drags Beau around the middle and pulls her off to bed, both trying not to jostle the other’s fresh ink. Which just leaves Fjord and Caduceus on deck, and Orly, who’s in the process of wrapping up his tools into bundles and tying them off with leather twine.

“Your cabin’s waiting, Cap’tn,” Orly says, catching Fjord’s eye. “Finally got the last of Avantika’s things cleared out, if you’ll be wanting a bigger space.”

He’ll never quite be comfortable with that title, nor the privileges it seems to afford. “No,” he hedges, “that’s- my old room’s fine. Plenty of space for me.” Caduceus clears his throat and Fjord flinches, all at once reminded that he’s not the only one impacted by his refusal. “Unless you’d rather have the room to yourself, Caduceus? I could- or you-”

“Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” Caduceus says, pleasant but noncommittal, then heads for the hatch to the lower level. Fjord stares after him, not really sure what to do with that.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Orly says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “Night, Cap’tn.”

“Night,” he echoes back. Orly disappears below deck, and then it’s only him, left with nothing but his indecision to ward off the night chill.

It’s not like he has to make the choice right away - Avantika’s former quarters are on the way to the rest of the crew berths. He’s somewhat surprised to find that no one else has taken up residence there. Like Orly said, they’re far more generous than the typical room. But the way he had said it… it’s almost like they were keeping the space open. For the Captain, whenever she- whenever Fjord returned.

Fjord staunchly swallows past the lump in his throat, then turns the doorknob to Avantika’s quarters.

There it all is, just as they left it, if a bit more barren - a desk, a bed, a poorly sealed hole in the floor, an empty alcove where a shrine once sat. It’s a fine room, and well insulated from the outside world. With the doors to the balcony closed, he can barely hear the ocean’s rock against the hull.

Fjord sits on the double bed, presses a hand to the sheets. Still the same mattress as when- as the last time. He can tell. It’s not hard like a typical berth; Avantika had a taste for the richer things in life. She was particular. She was…

His throat closes up a little more, not from emotion this time, but a memory. He looks down at the pillow, and sees red hair spilling like silk from a careless hand, sees his own grip come up to match hers. Sees how easily a slender throat can snap, with enough pressure. If the mood is right. If it’s what has to be done.

Avantika never once asked him to stay.

He doesn’t know what it’s like, to wake up in this bed. He doesn’t want to.

...He doesn’t have to.

Caduceus is still awake by the time Fjord finds his way back to their old room. There’s a little kettle going on the dresser, which has to be against some sort of shipside regulation, but without an open flame he can’t find any reason to complain. Caduceus doesn’t comment on his tardiness, but he does offer Fjord a cup.

Fjord can’t help but notice that there were already two set out.

“So, how’s it feel?” Caduceus asks as Fjord takes a seat on the opposite bed.

“How’s what feel?”

“Being back here, on this ship?”

Fjord sips his tea - herbal, loamy, not bad - and takes the time to consider his answer. He wants to give an honest one. He’s been working at that. “Good,” he decides. “I missed this.” What this is is somewhat nebulous, even in his own mind, but it feels right when he says it.

“Good,” says Caduceus. “Glad to hear it.”

They sit a while in silence after that, drinking their tea, exchanging the occasional friendly glance over their respective cups. This feels… safe, in a way that Avantika’s chamber didn’t.

“Hey, Caduceus? Can I ask a question?”

“Mm?” Caduceus hums, setting down his tea and giving Fjord his full attention. “Sure.”

“It’s just… something that I’ve been wondering about.” He laughs, the old self-deprecation still creeping into his voice, though not as heavily as it once did. “It’s stupid... you probably don’t even remember this. But there was a night, back in Xhorhas, when you helped me clean up a broken glass in the kitchen.”

“...I remember,” Caduceus says after a moment, expression unreadable.

Fjord’s heart is pounding harder than it has any right to.

“Did I… did I ask you, to stay with me?” Fjord ducks his head, knowing that his embarrassment, as always, shows too clearly on his face. “I mean- just because you said, you know- I wasn’t sure.” He cuts himself off before he can stumble back into the neverminds and forget its. They can only protect him so far, and he really does want to know, as much as he fears the answer.

Caduceus breaks into a soft smile. “Well, not in those words, no. But it seemed to me that you were asking for something, for a very long time. We just weren’t very good at hearing you.”

Fjord laughs again, rubbing at his neck. “You have to actually speak for people to hear what you’re saying.”

Caduceus watches him, rolling over Fjord’s self-effacing tone with painfully solemn honesty. “I don’t think that’s always true.”

Fjord stares at the walls, not really able to keep on meeting eyes that always seem to see right through him. “I wanted you to stay,” he admits - not quite a whisper, but not quite there either. “ I was afraid to.”

“Why’s that?” The question betrays nothing more than curiosity, but Fjord treats it with the seriousness it deserves.

“Vandren always taught me that there’s nothing weaker than saddling other people with your problems. I didn’t want... to need that kind of help. To be weak, like that.”

“Even if I wanted to give it?”

It’s Fjord’s turn to look at Caduceus, to really look at him. Insight has never been his strong suit, but Caduceus seems genuine, in the way that Fjord wants to be, has been trying to be.

“Why?” That’s the crux of his confusion, the one thing Fjord can’t wrap his head around. “Why would you want that?” What am I to you, that you keep on giving, when all I do is take?

“Because I care for you.” He says it like it’s true, like it’s what he really feels. I care for you . What does that mean? “You don’t believe me,” Caduceus states, impossibly understanding, but still disappointed.

“No,” Fjord is quick to correct him, not wanting to throw his words back in his face, “No, it’s just…” Why bother with me, of all people? “It just seems like it shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“You make it sound like kindness is a burden.” Fjord shrugs. Caduceus leans forward, knees a breath away from brushing his own. “You are not a burden to me, Fjord.”

His eyes are burning again. Fjord grips the edges of the mattress, tries so hard not to hear those words for what they are, and what they mean, because the moment he does he knows something will break.

“You don’t have to believe me. But can I… may I show you?” The other mattress creaks, and then his own dips as Caduceus sits down by his side, waiting for an affirmation. When Fjord nods, he takes both hands and places them on either side of his chin. He turns Fjord until they’re nose to nose - breathing the same air, filling the same space. The pads of his thumbs soothe along the rabbiting pulse that courses beneath Fjord’s skin.

Fjord closes his eyes, overwhelmed, as Caduceus lifts one hand and traces it along the edge of his cheek.

“I wondered, for a very long time, if I was on the right path. Whether what I was doing was really what the Wildmother intended.” His fingers move to the line of Fjord’s nose, pausing over the scar that cuts a jagged crease over his eye. “You were the first sign, that I had found my destiny. I knew, from the moment we met, that there was something broken in you.” Fjord flinches, but Caduceus’s other hand squeezes his neck gently, keeping him from turning away but not forcing, never forcing. “But you found your way out from the darkness. I may have lit the way, but you pulled yourself out. And I am so proud of you.”

Fjord’s mouth parts involuntarily as the words seep into his chest, caught between a gasp and a whimper. The burning behind his eyes finally spills over. “You- every part of you, even the ones you hate- deserved to be saved. So if anything, it’s me who was selfish in all of this. Because I wanted to be the one to do it.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person. He’s not sure he ever has. He should be mortified. But as Caduceus’s thumbs smooth away the wetness from his cheeks, he can’t bring himself to feel any shame. The tears seep like poison from an old wound - too long held inside his chest, too long carried beneath his skin, and hidden away.

He lets his head drop to Caduceus’s shoulder. Lets himself be held. Lets himself hold on in return. And doesn’t feel guilty, for any of it.

—-

Crew quarters aren’t nearly as finely made as the captain’s cabin. Here, you hear everything - every groan of the hull, every buffett of wind, every shuffle of rigging from those still above deck.

Fjord wakes to all those familiar sounds, and some that are new - gentle snores, puffs of warm breath, a heartbeat slower than his own. The seagulls are just beginning to herald the dawn, their cries sharp and biting, urging him to get up and start the day.

A little longer, Fjord thinks hazily. Just a few minutes more.

He pulls one elbow out from where it’s fallen asleep beneath Caduceus’s side, then presses the tip of his cold nose back into the warmth of the silken shirt in from of him. Caduceus stirs, but doesn’t wake, and the arm that covers Fjord’s shoulders pulls him in a little closer. He lets himself be pulled. Lets his eyes fall closed.

Before he knows it, he’s asleep again.

#critical role #critrole fic #critrole angst #fjorclay #fjord #caduceus clay #cr spoilers #(only tagging because there are very mild ones from the last episode in this)#me: this is going to be a quick drabble #me (5000 words later | crying): oh no #my writing

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09/13/2020 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 12:1-14:32, 2 Corinthians 13:1-14, Psalms 57:1-11, Proverbs 23:9-11

Today is the 13th day of September welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is great to be here with you as we reach the…the threshold of a shiny, sparkly, new week. We only get to do this 52 times in a year, and this is one of those times, but 52 times a year we get to imagine ourselves walking forward into our future. We are right here, right now and there is a week in front of us and it's ours, it's a gift, it's ours. We get to write the story of our lives upon this week and we get to choose what that's gonna look like. We can just wander into it aimlessly and be tossed about, like we just stepped out of last week and jumped into a washing machine on spin cycle or we can orient ourselves to God each day and walk with confidence into this week, knowing who we are and knowing where we’re going. And let's choose the latter. Let’s do the…let's do the latter thing that I just said. Let's walk into this week with confidence together and allow the Scriptures to inform our choices and decisions and postures of heart in the coming days including today. So, we got a brand-new. We’re gonna read from the English Standard Version this week and we will pick up in the book of Isaiah where we left off yesterday. Isaiah chapters 12, 13, and 14.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for a new week. We enter this new week with…with a grateful heart. And even as we have now concluded the book of second Corinthians and look forward into the new week moving into some new territory in the New Testament, we are grateful. We see that we are progressing. And we are not only progressing through the Bible, this big thick ancient book, the Bible is making us progress forward in our lives, our Spirits are being renewed, we are being sanctified, we are being set apart as holy. This is remarkable and we are grateful. And, so, we thank You. We look forward to all that You will speak to us in the coming days of this week. Well up from within Holy Spirit. May we become more and more aware of Your constant presence in our lives. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Lord we lift up Your children who are burdened with feelings of shame and condemnation. We thank You Lord that You do not condemn us or shame us. Convict us, yes, because You want to encourage us to turn away from sin and toward You. But shame and condemnation are chains the enemy designed to mobilize us and hinder Your work. Help us and our brothers and sisters in Christ who are bound by chains of shame and condemnation to raise our fettered hands for You and allow You to remove our shackles. Lead us to verses in Your word that affirm Your forgiveness for all confessed sins. Remind us that You have cast those confessed sins as far as the east is from the west encouraging us that just as east and west never meet so our confessed sins are cast forever out of Your presence. Give us Your strength to leave those sins at the cross and to walk in the newness of life that Jesus purchased for us. Thank You, Lord that there’s no sin You cannot forgive, no sinner that You cannot save, no chain that You cannot break. Thank You that when the enemy whispers an invitation to walk back through the valley of shame and condemnation, we can answer him as it is written - I will forgive their iniquity and I will remember their sin no more. Thank You that no matter how many times we fall into that valley Your help to escape it is only a prayer away. Thank You, Lord that no matter how many times we give up on ourselves You never do. Free us Lord so that we can use what You’ve done for us to lead others to that same freedom that You have given us. Help us Lord to empty our hands of all that hinder us so that You can fill them with Your word, Your worship and Your work. I ask all these things or something even better in the mighty name of Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith. Amen.

Hey, everyone this is Valerie from Arizona calling again. I just left a message a couple of days ago I was feeling pretty down about my difficulties for me and my husband dealing with infertility. And as some of you guys may remember I have been living in the past as I’ve been saying, listening to the DAB entries from the beginning…the beginning of the year on and something just really, really incredible happened. So, I’m not caught up to date. So, I’m not listening to the current prayer requests or anything but I just felt so moved to call in last week when I was feeling down and I thought, you know, even if I don’t hear these until I make it to September then then I think I’ll still feel better knowing that maybe people out there are praying. So, something really cool happened. I’m painting this weekend, I’m working on projects and I’m blasting through all the entries and on April 19th someone named Hopeful called in and her message, it’s like it was for me in that moment and it was about how you can be thankful for things in your life even if maybe motherhood isn’t happening when you want it to happen. And I just felt so amazed and overwhelmed by that, that here I am listening to all these past entries and God still finds a way to connect me with somebody for the problem I was having this weekend, feeling down. So, God’s amazing, I’m just so thankful I found this app and this community, and I just had to come on and give a little praise report. And I’m out of time so I’ll talk to you guys soon. Praise Jesus. O…I just love it.

Hey fellow DABbers this is Joe the Protector from Georgia September 9th here 7:58 in the morning. Just got finished listening to the 9th day of the DAB and I’m calling in reference to Joe the new listener who called in. And Joe I just want you to know that we do have your back spiritually and that we are in prayer with you and that this fight that we fight daily…daily. It’s a spiritual battle. We fight a daily spiritual battle. It’s not a weekly or a monthly or even a yearly battle as the Israelites did when…when they had to go sacrifice once a year but this is a daily battle that we have to come to God and sacrifice what’s going on in our life. So, Joe I want you to know that just stay firm, be courageous and bold. Don’t give in to the enemy’s tactics because that’s what this is, is one of the enemy’s tactics. And God has not promised us a life of ease but of hardship. It says it in His word that this is a...this path that we take is a life of hardship at times. So, Joe we’ve got your back and I totally get and understand what you’re going through. I’ve had it happen in my home as well and not…maybe to the severity you have it, but I do have it. So, just…just take a stand, just right now in your mind just take that stand. All right fellow DABbers. Love you all. Be safe. See y’all next time.

Hey all, this is the Midwest teacher I hope you’re having a blessed day. This message is for Sonny from Florida. Sonny I know exactly what you’re going through. Last year three months before my husband and I’s three-year anniversary he was diagnosed with leukemia. And we definitely expected trials in our marriage but that was not one that we foresaw. And I…I just…I get it and it is so difficult and I can’t imagine going through it our first year of marriage. But I do have a verse that I highlighted shortly after he got diagnosed and I would love to read that to you. But please know that I am praying for you. A lot of us are praying for you. Don’t let the devil get inside your head or your wife’s head. Here’s that verse. It’s Psalm 18:16 through 18. He reached down from on high and took hold of me. He drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes who are too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. Just know that we’re thinking of you and praying for you and don’t hesitate to call in and give us updates or more prayer request because we are here for you. We are here for you. Thank you. Bye.

Good morning Daily…Daily Audio Bible family it’s Susan from Canada, God’s Yellow…God’s Yellow Flower calling. I’ve been listening daily and praying daily for each and every one of you and my heart just breaks over each and every one of your prayer requests. It’s just so distressing that I want you to know that I do pray along with you guys will and I love you all and you move me deeply with your tears and your…and your troubles. And I want to pray for Joe the new listener, welcome Joe to the family. We’re glad to have you and we pray that we can support you in your walk. And, so, let’s pray. Dear heavenly Father I just ask that You be with Joe and strengthen him and give him wisdom during this time of attack on his family and his home. I pray Holy Spirit that You would just fill his home, every corner of his home, that everyone there will know that You are God and that no evil can enter. Dear Lord I come against the powers of Satan that are trying to bring this home down, bring this family down and I just ask dear God that Your You send Your angels with a burning fire to just eliminate Satan from that home, just to hold…uphold Joe with Your righteous right hand and give him the strength he needs to overcome and to empower his family with truth. In Jesus’ precious and holy name, I pray.

__ gosh I want to cry. Hold me together Lord. I just need some prayer. My sisters daughter has been killed in a car accident yesterday and she leaves behind a daughter and a husband and a sister and her brother and mother and two fathers. __ if we can have prayer all around from everybody and having everyone connected. We are __ this prayer line opportunity __. Bye.

This is my first-time calling in. I was looking at pictures on Facebook tonight of the country where I’ve been a missionary. My name is Jeannie and that is…the name of the country is Niger Republic. There’s a terrible flood going on there and there are hundreds of people in the capital city of Niamey that are without any place to sleep, they’re without close, they’re without food, they’ve lost everything. So, please pray for them. Pray that sons come in to help many people and that this is an…this will become a glorious opportunity for many Muslim people in that country to come to know that there’s a Savior named Jesus who loves them and who wants them to be in relationship with Him. Thanks everybody.

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courtorderedcake · 5 years

Text

Hallow : ch vi - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch 6 / ?? - In which there are endings.

The princess was not heavy by any means as he dragged her up the dimly lit stairs, but his face was bleeding and she was fighting whatever draught Pann had given her. Damn Pann. Killian gritted his teeth tightly; he should have known, should have seen the signs that Tink was not herself.

Looking into her soulless eyes was proof of her limited capacity and Pann's influence. Tink had twitched unnaturally, her eyes briefly wild, and whispered one word to him: Run.

The chase across the dance floor had been slow, dancers purposefully blocking his escape. But then Alice was there guiding him through the chaos like a white rabbit; except she was frantic and pointing to someone in the crowd being pushed on by so many bodies, all while screaming. Emma's panicked eyes met his, and their fingers brushed, yet he still wasn't quite close enough. When he finally could get through, Killian grabbed Emma unceremoniously, his body being torn into by the creatures surrounding them. He dragged her body up the stairs to what he thought was a viewing room, if the large whirring boxes and a fuse panel towards the end of their trek were any indication. He tried to gather Emma in his arms again, but she shook violently and let out a whimper when he lifted her.

Emma had tried to fight against the potion’s power several times, its magic obviously unstable when combined with her own. Killian soothed her gently, not willing to risk what could happen if she somehow released that wave of unstable magic swirling within her.

"Let go. Let go, I've got you. Don't fight it, just rest," Killian murmured, her body stilling. He was surprised how much she relaxed, and how much trust she put in him. But they were each other's allies now, and would be for longer than he cared to admit. The thought of them getting back to Ingrid's brought him immense comfort; now if they could just get out of Pann's labyrinth.

The door to the top floor opened with ease, and he finally let Emma collapse to the ground. A glass barrier let them see the entire dance floor of Never-Wonder Land, the room ending in a strange slant with a glass banister.

Killian peered over the edge, only to hear someone nasally humming a lullaby. Turning, a Satyr set Emma roughly on a sofa, before turning to smirk in his direction. Pann.

"Hello, Dark One," the boy creature sneered.

Killian rushed to Emma’s side, putting himself between her and the Satyr. Pann moved out of the way as if he didn't care, hopping on his cloven hooves. "Pann, don't hurt her; she’s not a threat to you if you let us go- "

"Maybe not, but… Time is up. Nil wanted her pretrained anyway, so don't worry. She won't order you about, and never will." Pann gestured towards Emma as she slept. "A few more cocktails, or a little poke in through the eye here…" The Satyr tapped at the corner of his eye with his index finger.

"Fae are fascinating, you know. So many human like traits, and that silly biological feature of theirs - damage the brain, and it takes far more time to heal, if at all. She'll be a pretty little Queen to rival the old days soon enough, and a worthy royal who can usher in the return of the old ways."

"The old ways were barbaric. It's the only thing I agree with this royal brat about -"

"If you let her go, I'll have her give you the dagger!" Pann said in a sing song fashion, Killian’s body immediately tensing.

The Darkness flooded his veins with euphoria, a feeling of malicious pleasure and joy hitting him roughly and without warning.

Do it, do it, let her go, get the dagger piece and let us be done with this!

It was entirely too good to be true, though, and Nil had no intention of Killian ever being free if his father was involved. Still, this was a risky bet to take, and if Pann did follow through -

Emma stirred, blinking slowly as if she was still mostly asleep, an empty hollowness in her eyes. Her face was devoid of emotion and pulled tight, a slow look of recognition going through her as she looked at Pann, before reaching upwards towards Killian.

The force of her throw was what took Killian the most by surprise, her brute strength as she gripped his collar powered by whatever magic was in the substance she had drunk earlier sent him flying down several flights behind the dance floor's looking glass. Killian tried to restore the air knocked from him so he could take stock of where he had landed. The chamber where he lay was concrete walled with marble flooring, the narrow balcony above where Emma now stared down at him from impossible to reach. Gulping in breath, he could see columns of thick concrete that led into a dim chamber with bars and fencing in areas, some broken or bent. Behind him, the thick glass window facade of the club allowed him to see out, but the club members only saw reflections as they danced and the lights spun in flashing patterns. Looking back up at Emma, Pann hugged her as a child might, and Killian wondered if Pann might have her try to kill him. What a bloody mess this was.

A low, snarling growl ended that thought without warning. A woman's head with what were once coiffed blonde curls appeared from the darkness, parts of her hair matted and face dirty. She seemed very tall and moved in a strange way, Killian unable to place what was wrong - until her furry shoulders came into view, connected to two long legs ending in feline paws the size of trash can lids. Her wings fluttered quietly, unable to unfold well in the small space.

A Sphinx.

"Wendy, darling, don't make a mess on my new carpet please, you dreadful beast." Pann sneered down at them, Emma standing nearby with her hands clasped together. Her shoulders twitched, but Pann did not seem to notice. "Papa will be up here with our guest getting her ready. Have fun you two!"

Wendy snarled, jumping to try and swipe at Pann and Emma, and he laughed.

The Sphinx huffed, her voice like a child's. "You, you foul imp, you are not my Papa. My brothers will find me!"

Pann giggled, and nodded in an over exaggerated way, mocking her. "Sure darling. Sure. As if those idiots could find you. Now eat up, he might be the last meal you get for a while with this bad attitude of yours."

Pann walked off with Emma, and Killian would have been in fast pursuit, if not for Wendy's speed. She batted him down and to the side as if he was nothing, his weight smacking against the concrete wall hard enough to leave a dent, that section crumbling to the floor along with him. Wendy, the creature, hissed at him and roared, Killian barely moving out of the way in time as her claws left deep gouges in the marble flooring several inches thick.

Think you stupid fool, before you get us killed -

"I'm working on it!" Killian yelled at the grating voice.

Wendy blinked, and Killian took that advantage, rolling back to put distance between them. Gods, what did he know about bloody sphinxes? They were haughty, proud, and bound by the rules of their riddling, a Fae/Anisapi mix treated like gods in the old lands. He could work with that.

"Sphinx! Oh mighty terror of the sands! I beseech you to riddle me your questions -"

The creature rolled her blue eyes, before swiping another paw at him. It grazed him, claws shredding a sleeve of his suit and cutting into the meat of his shoulder.

"Here's a question, you stupid little Fae - how long has it been since I ate? Answer - two weeks. Another question, when did we stop asking riddles for mortals to give them favor? 700 years ago. One last one. How good do you think you'll taste in that tacky suit of yours?" She lunged, teeth gleaming white and entirely too close as he desperately dodged.

Kill the beast, vessel! Kill it!

"I don't want to fight, we have a common enemy! I'm sorry, I've been locked away since the war, I didn't -" Killian shouted, weaving through the chain link maze to get away from the Sphinx. "I don't want to fight you -"

"Correction, you can't fight me." The Sphinx approached the first of a few small barriers he had scrambled through. With a raised paw, she shredded the fencing and stepped daintily through.

Subdue it, then kill it, kill it, kill it -

"That's correct, love, but I also don't want to fight you. I need to save someone who holds my freedom and yours -" The grating sound of claws against the fencing was only a barrier away; the woman's, no, a teenage girl's face with large blue eyes narrowed through the chain link. The Darkness was like vines, squeezing his insides, but Emma had asked him to be better, to try and help her -

"My freedom? You can grant me my freedom? And your own?" Wendy's shoulders fell slightly from their predator stance, and her tail flicked out like a snake by her side.

Her unsure voice brought him forward, as he raised a hand to her in supplication. She sniffed, then sat as her tail twitched, taking a paw and delicately wiping away drool from her face.

Killian took another tentative step forward, his voice low. "The Princess of the United Realms is up there, being prepared by Pann to go to the Goblin Prince. If she does, you stay here with Pann forever in his servitude... and I go to serve the Goblin Prince and his father, enabling them to bring Darkness everywhere they wish." Wendy's tail hit hard against the floor with a thwack, making him jump. He took a steadying breath. "I'm a prisoner as much as you are, I just have a bigger cage, or a longer leash. The princess needs to be freed. Help me."

"I will eat you if we lose, you know." The Sphinx surveyed him with feline amusement, tail quirked upwards and bent at the end, like a great question mark.

He chuckled lightly. "I'm afraid I'd be bad for your digestive tract, as I won't die."

He fell backwards from the rush of air as her paws swiped, shoulder searing in more pain against the rough floor. The suddenness of Wendy tearing apart the last barrier and looming in front of him had the Darkness screaming in his head to move quickly to kill her, to find something -

"Go grab the sword over in the corner. It's broken, but it's better than nothing." Wendy nodded her head towards a pile of armor and broken weapons. He ran over and beneath another barrier, grabbed the pommel, and pulled it free. Running back to Wendy, she bowed to let him mount her back, and he settled above her wings uncomfortably. "Hey," she growled. "Any funny business, I eat you, so mind that blade."

Her wings opened wide, steadying her, but she could not fly because of the pillars and strange ceiling piece located oddly in the space. Instead she climbed up the side, hopping here and there as Killian helped to untangle netting hidden amongst the rafters with the broken blade.

They could hear Pann's voice as Wendy shrugged him off, setting Killian on a ledge that led to the back staircase he'd already come from once. He ran as quietly as possible through the darkened maze of boxes, up the staircase, waiting for Wendy's roar.

When it came, he threw himself at Emma, pushing her aside. Wendy and Pann were struggling, Wendy giving a whine as she fell off of Pann, twitching slightly. Pann tossed a syringe at Killian’s feet, Wendy's body silent.

"It's not only for drinking," the Satyr sang merrily. "It also works as a potent injection!"

This is a lesson in following that silly girl's ideology. Friends are useless, as are disgusting beasts for allies. You're a coward and an idiot, my stupid, weak, fool of a vessel. Listen to me, and me alone.

Wendy sat up gracefully, eyes hollow and with that same golden sheen that he had seen in Emma’s eyes. He heard Emma rustle behind him, standing in her dress. Pann clapped his hands, doing a strange jig on his hooves that made Killian sick.

"Wendy, eat the Dark One when I signal you to. That will solve two problems at once; just make sure you tear him up good." Pann smiled, moving to let Wendy stalk towards Killian. “A Blackwater brat. Jones, that was your brother, eh? I was at the last battle when the Darkness was released, when you were just a puppet for it. I watched you kill all those innocent men. Your own brother even, all because you were in a fit over some woman. This seems a fair penance.”

"You don't know anything about me, or my brother -"

"And I don't care if I ever do! You're almost not quite dead. Emma, come here, angel face." Emma trotted over and Pann smacked her on the ass roughly, her face contorting in disgust for a brief moment before returning to vacancy.

"This is my real prize. I was exiled for fairy rings and the suspicion of eating children to maintain my youth. How ironic is it that King Dumbing and Queen D'Oh have their pwecious wittle baby caught in one? Such just desserts!"

Pann giggled again, making a signal with his hand.

"Dammit, Princess!" Killian lunged down the stairs, Wendy snarling as she tried to fit through the doorframe. Picking up the blunted sword, he heard the Darkness screech at him.

LET US TAKE OVER, LET US FIX THINGS. WE CAN GET THE DAGGER PIECE AND LEAVE -

Killian skidded to a stop in front of the fuse box, broken sword in hand. Emma walked calmly toward him, eyes vacant, and the Darkness dug its talons into every place it could.

DO NOT DISOBEY VESSEL! THIS, IT WILL HURT US -

Killian grinned. "It's going to hurt alright, but I'm not going to give up my freedom just yet," he muttered, then jammed the broken sword into the center of the panel.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Floating in the golden river felt amazing, like pure sunshine soothing her skin. A voice told her to do things, made her feel sleepier, their commands like honeyed music lyrics that she twirled to. Some of them made sense, like standing or sitting, but some filled her with an unpleasant nausea the golden river had to scrub away, its waters briefly turbulent as she tried to find an invisible shoreline.

"Attack him, throw him over the ledge," the voice sang, music in her veins, the beat wonderful as it rose through the soles of her feet.

She threw someone, using all the force available to her. Killian, it was Killian - the music intensified over the sound of her teeth grinding from her jaw being so tight. Slowly it eased her back into relaxation, the voice talking about everything and nothing. Shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and -

The King. Her father waited with her mother, and they had sent her, sent Emma to save them. Her shoulders spasmed as her toes curled, body going tight like a music box wound too tight; there was something, someone…

The spasm stopped abruptly, and Emma took a breath as the voice whispered how good she was, how good it felt to behave, to listen. A vision appeared of her smiling happily on a throne as she watched a shadowy male figure speak. He gestured at her as crowds cheered, her head so blessedly empty and light she nearly floated over to him. His scaled arm gripped her waist, dark golden feathers protruding from an elbow.

The feeling of part of her tensing happened again as she recoiled from the shade's touch. A moment later the shade was back in front of her buzzing like an angry hornet, demanding her to kneel, to obey it. Visions of how unpleasant it could be flooded her head, the despair of so many others an inescapable din as this shadow grew to try and swallow her. Even a deafening roar of some vicious and angry creature turned into a whimper in the presence of the shadow; it was all encompassing, hopeless. Her heart fell as the shadow grew to cover everything, the occasional pulse of gold with the beat of the music like spilled glitter in the murk.

Wandering blindly, voices emerged that Emma strained to hear.

"- I watched you kill all those innocent men. Your own brother even, all because you were in a fit over some woman. This seems a fair penance.”

"You don't know anything about me, or my brother -"

Emma found herself stilling; she knew that voice, she was certain. Had there always been just the shadow and the golden song? Had she always been a Lost Girl?

"And I don't care if I ever do! You're almost not quite dead. Emma, come here, angel face."

The golden song pulled her forward, its simple command easy enough. A hand smacked her on the ass roughly, and that tension was back, snapping to life as the golden gloom fell away, Emma's face contorting in disgust for just the briefest second as her muscles went rigid. She held it as long as she could, dragging her fist down to her sides and locking her jaw. The song went on about fairy rings and just desserts with a giggle. There was a beat, then a roar shook the room. Emma panicked, there was a great animal in the gloom she could not see. If she just pushed that small light in her hands to attack the shadows that shrieked -

Acuity came briefly, revealing the tanned and dusty backside of a great lion with wings - no, a Sphinx -

"Dammit, Princess!"

His checked sports coat was discarded and blood was smeared across his face, making the hair plastered to his forehead and the fear in his eyes look a dark indigo shade. Killian, Killian was fighting because of Pann's trickery and she…

The noise of the song broke over her, drowning her in the dark again, the music forcing her to walk in steps she did not want to take as it ground down on her. Every time she tried to toss it off, the crescendo pummeled her, dragging her down further and denying her oxygen. Her shoulders went tight as she spasmed from her legs through her back. She could see him now, a broken sword in his hands, raised above the electrical box.

"I'm not going to give up my freedom just yet," he muttered, and then he brought the sword down.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

There was a thundering noise, true darkness swallowing them as the music stopped and surprise settled on the club goers. Killian had been flung, but was coughing and cursing a long list of deities as he frantically put out flames in his hair. Pann was yelling, the Sphinx continued her stalking of Killian as he remained unaware.

"Emma," Pann whispered as she swayed slightly. "Emma, watch. The Dark One is going to be a Dark Snack!" he giggled.

Killian slid underneath Wendy's pounce, barely missing her back claws, and full force tackled Emma, pushing her up onto his shoulder. Pann screamed in fury beside them, following them back up to the viewing room. Killian looked for any other escape routes, but besides the door they came from off the stairs and the balcony that Wendy was now pulling herself up on, there was none.

"That's enough. Of that." Pann panted out as he reached the room. "I'm too old for these sprints and too young to be wasting time like this. Emma, feed him to Wendy."

Emma looked at Killian, and he smiled apologetically at her.

"I'm not afraid to fight you, Swan," he said, quietly.

"Lie, he is, he is! The truth is that he doesn't want to hurt you -" Wendy hissed, pacing on the edge of the balcony. There was no pulse in the air from the music, just stale silence that Emma listened to, finding her words.

"Emma, baby doll, any day now please, I mean -" Pann began, but was stopped by Emma's wavering voice.

"How… dare you," she started, and Pann went rigid, while Killian straightened in surprise. "How dare you… sp-speak to me… and t-treat me… like this?"

White light glowed from her palms and up her arms, Killian backing away as the tendrils of her magic probed around the room. Wendy gave a startled gasp as one hit her, her fur going silky and eyes quickly pinpointed on Pann. Emma thrummed with light magic as Pann gazed on in fear.

"You, Pann, are a coward." Emma’s voice was solemn, her intonation without emotion or feeling. Killian pushed himself as far to the wall as he could, the Darkness urging him to hide, to get away from her. Pann stood transfixed as she smiled. "You are a coward because you trap those who you say are lost, try to hold them and bend them to your will, and you believe it makes you stronger. It doesn't and never will. They will always find a way to release the chains of bondage. You deem them Lost as if you didn't pull them from their lives, and as if you aren't Lost as well. As if you, shepherd's guide, Pyotr Pann, aren't the most lost of them all. You've forgotten your way, Satyr. You're the Lost One."

Get OUT, get out of here, HIDE -

The Darkness was a squeal, a whine that buzzed and shook Killian’s molars as light wrapped around Pann. Emma looked ethereal, eyes burning bright. Wendy examined her once scarred haunches to find no blemish remained and roared in triumph as she spread her long wings across the length of the room.

"I am no prize, for you, Lost Boy," Emma whispered.

It wasn't clear what happened next, but the glass partition shattered, and Wendy was bowing her blonde head, ringlets bouncing back. Emma turned to touch the Sphinx reverently.

"Do with him as you will."

Wendy nodded, and another crash sounded from the staircase accompanied by a thin trail of smoke. The creature looked at Pann and back to Emma.

"Princess, I have no use for truth in this world, as it only brings me pain. I give you this in my gratitude, knowing that you will use it far better than I." Magic the color of amber and honey swirled gently in the air. Wendy smiled, her face caught between woman and child. "Now you will know all truths from falsehoods. May it serve you well."

Smoke billowed from the staircase, as the acrid smell of burning metal and plastic rose through the air. Killian could see flames begin to lick the walls of the staircase, its banisters creaking.

Emma nodded and stepped towards Killian as he flinched back, the Darkness taking full control as it forced him into a far corner. As Wendy gave a roar that shook the floorboards and made the light bulbs crack, his eyes darted to Pann against the Darkness' pull. Wendy stood before Pann, a paw raised, and swiped.

Pann flew through the window of the office, the broken pieces of glass catching in the rainbow colors of the disco lights, each piece a tinted jewel. Emma's power flowed through her in a white flame, hair rippling in incandescent heat as Pann’s influence fell away from the club. The ripples of her magic shot through the smoky air, turning the glass into bright dust that fell on the club goers like snow. The color from the lights gave it the appearance of being green, blue, pink, and gold as it settled. The crowd cheered, oblivious to what was actually happening.

The satyr landed with a skidding thud in the DJ booth, the force of his descent knocking the record askew and flipping it in the air. Pann stood slowly after several attempts, the spotlight that flickered from the explosion of Emma's attack painting him a sickly green as the club turned to look in his direction, whispers sounding where EDM music once blasted.

The DJ, a pointed eared and sharp toothed blonde beauty that wore a slip of a glittery green dress smiled her wide grin.

“Well well well, now, Pann. Look what the cat dragged in."

There was chaos as thralls swarmed and fled, some crumbling to dust with relieved sighs, others fleeing in their outdated garments. The fire reached the entrance door with another explosion, lighting the Lost Boy and his golden drink into flame, blocking the entrance as people tried to double back, smoke everywhere. Wendy forced a shoulder against a crumbling wall as starlight rushed in and people, creatures, and Fae greeted the night sky once more.

Emma's magic had long since fizzled as she looked on, standing at the edge of the balcony and watching the crowds disperse through the cracked glass. Smoke filled the room behind her, heat growing as the walls began to splinter.

"I need to move," Killian hissed at the Darkness as it pulled at his muscles and tendons like a harpsichord.

Get away, get OUT, but STAY AWAY from her.

Killian finally found the will to move his legs, the Darkness painful but manageable as it loosened its control. "Emma, we have to go!"

Emma turned and looked at him blankly, a deep tiredness settling over her features as she swayed.

NO, don't touch her, DON'T -

She fell forward, and he caught her as she mumbled a slurred apology. The Darkness snarled, but nothing happened as far as Killian could see or feel, and he looked for an escape. Killian whistled, Wendy looking up as she flew in circles over the emptying dance floor and rising smoke, gliding towards them. Grabbing onto her fur, they soared out of the viewing room, and Wendy roughly deposited them into the rubble with a few stragglers climbing through.

Wendy bowed solemnly and addressed Killian as he struggled to ease a confused and dazed Emma down from the Sphinx's back. Wendy coughed, flapping her wings to clear the air.

"I cannot come to your aid any further, my friends. I have my own matters to attend to. In your time of need, however, I will make haste to fight by your side." Bowing low, Wendy turned. "Goodbye."

Killian helped Emma navigate the broken wall up and out to an alleyway, where people milled about in various states of shock and amusement. Emma giggled in his arms, barely conscious but also, and more annoyingly, drunk - Pann's draught finally catching up to her. They pushed through the crowd, and Killian had never been more grateful for Emma's light magic healing them, even at the expense of the Darkness' fury.

“The special effects were amazing, that Sphinx thing with wings, I mean -”

“ - I knew the place was legit, but holy shit -”

“Did you see that dude with hooves? A nod to gluttony maybe, and mass consumption in a world out of touch with nature -”

"I think I saw Jefferson Airplane, how cool!"

“ - the Heavy Water Light Show doesn't even hold a candle -”

“ - and those dancers from all different time periods, I mean who designed this event? Do you think it was Warhol? I want them at my next party, even with the fire -”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

If there was one thing the Darkness hated more than anything else, it was losing. It had lost, another plan ruined by the silly, spoiled, pompous -

“Wait! Waaa… Waaaytaminnit…” Emma slurred with a stumble. She caught herself on the brick wall of the alleyway, reaching out to him. “I feeeel...I feel… jussssst a little little little bit dizzy...” she giggled.

- drunk princess. Hiding away, the Darkness licked its wounds. The princess had burned it, swept it to the far corners of its host. The plan had been perfect: to make a deal with the Satyr, the princess to stay in his collection for his own nefarious purposes, and to bargain with the Goblins for her. A pretty golden treat and reward. Pann just had to force her to hand over the shard.

How could it predict her magic being so strong, or that his host would ignore its commands?

It was weak. The damned Satyr was weak. Its host was weak.

Killian sighed, walking to her and holding her body upright. “Have you never been drunk before?”

“Nope!” She hiccuped, clinging to Killian’s arm. “Wine, sometimes, maybe tipsy. This is… worse.”

The Darkness seethed at their contact, frustrated that it had been stopped from its goal. It also felt one of the few emotions it could feel, hating the way it circled its being. Fear.

The princess had powerful magic, powerful light magic. Time was running out for her, which meant time was running out for it to achieve freedom, to return to its dark glory, and for his host to be controlled only by the dark whispers it gave.

The Darkness was not fond of being ignored or pushed away, and the greater sin of this light magic was his host’s clarity, his sudden refusals and simpering morality returning. When they’d first met, his host had been full of anger, fear, anguish - a perfect environment to thrive in. The Darkness had settled easily, the man underneath realizing too late the curse he had wrought.

Now… He heard whispers of a long buried voice. That was a problem. The princess was a problem. The Darkness planned in its shadows silently, waiting and watching.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian watched the thralls escaping the now burning building, smoke rising into the night sky as he held Emma's form. Her face was flushed, her dress that revealed the tops of her breasts matching the color in her cheeks as he turned them from the chaos. She clung to his arm, whatever drink she’d downed taking a heavy toll on her mind now that Pann was gone.

He let out a breath and looked up, trying not to examine her frame any further. The night sky looked brighter, he noticed. The stars that had guided him for years were closer to diamonds than ever, littering the sky in chase of each other.

“Liam… Liiiiam taugh’ me the name.” Emma wobbled, pressing into him. Her head lolled as she whispered against his chin. “The stars!” She made a wave of her hand and almost fell forward, his hand clasping hers as he pulled her against his chest. “His fave, Scutum. Mine, Cygnus. There.” She spun against his chest to point to the constellation.

“How did you know that?” he whispered, looking down at the lazy crooked smile she wore.

“I toldya, he told me. He liked it becaaaaause, it was a shield, like him.” She reached up and touched his nose. “Boop.”

Despite himself, he smiled. “You're going to be impossible to get back to Ingrid's.” Leaving the alleyway, he flagged down a taxi.

“My girl and I are trying to get away from this fire, we have a vacation house up on the hills. Can you give us a lift?” Killian smiled, his tone and face laced with charm, and the taxi driver obliged. They climbed the hills as Killian kept Emma busy, pointing out more constellations and doing anything he could for her to keep her mouth shut. He didn't need her explaining that they'd blown up a bar by way of magic and a giant winged lion.

They drove by an unlit home, Killian telling the driver to circle back to the long drive to the house. He gave the driver a huge wad of bills, watching him pull away. A flick of the wrist and they were inside the picturesque mountain mansion. Cyprus trees waved through full length windows, the smell of lemon from a nearby grove wafting in the warm air.

Emma stumbled to a couch with a groan, taking off the high heels Elsa had given her to borrow.

“Freedom!” she laughed, staring at him with an ear to ear grin. He shook his head and scoped out blankets.

“There's a bedroom over here, should you need it, Princess.” He pointed to a door but she shook her head no while patting the couch.

“ 'S fine. I can sleep anywhere. I used ‘ta hide in the library, trying to scare my nannies. I always fell asleep.” She stretched lazily, the window behind her casting moonbeams on her skin. He could see the goose flesh rising where it touched, and it made him swallow hard, his own mind hazy. Killian walked to her, bending to give her a comforter and pillow. Her hand caught the lapels of his jacket, threading between them and pulling him close as he held his breath. He closed his eyes, the tips of her fingers running along his jaw freezing him in place.

Emma began tracing his features so sweetly, gentle petal soft touches he leaned into. “I toldya you could be good.” His eyes shot open, the Darkness blessedly absent for a short moment. The moon lit her eyes the color of the kelp on the shore, flecked with splinters of sunlit cliffs, and seafoam capped waves. The color of home. “I think… I think you are good deep down, somewhere I can sometimes see. I like that; I wish you were always this gentle, this kind, this good with me. Thank you.”

Lips pressed against his, warm and timid, letting him lead the tempo as he crawled over her body. She was drunk, but her mouth was so absolutely intoxicating that he felt drunk as well, the world spinning too fast but her tentative touch too slow for it to burn him like this. He turned his head to the side to deepen the kiss, and her reaction was immediate, a low moan catching in her throat as her tongue joined his in a dance.

The Darkness barked a laugh, breaking him away from her, breathing heavily over her half lidded gaze and swollen lips.

Taking advantage of a drunken princess mere weeks after confirming your ‘twue love’ is dead? Classy, Dearie.

“I’m sorry.” He stood abruptly, backing away from Emma, her sigh of contentedness quickly turning into steady breaths of sleep.

Killian fled to a bedroom, locking himself inside. He sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep as he pressed his fingers to his lips, unable to clear her from his mind. “That was a one time thing,” he whispered to no one, again and again.

Sure it was.

The Darkness in him crawled under his skin, feeding on his fear. Killian fell back into its embrace without hesitation, finally allowing himself to be free of any thoughts but his revenge.

“For Milah.”

Yes, for Milah.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma awoke with a pounding headache, bombarded by the beginning of light streaming in large windows she didn't recognize. The walls of the abode were shockingly white, immediately assailing her senses, the smell of citrus in the gentle breeze uncomfortable as she stumbled to a washroom loudly enough to wake the dead. Retching into the huge porcelain basin that looked as if it could fit four adults instead of one, she tried to piece together what the hell was going on.

Killian chuckled lowly, and she glanced sideways to see his profile leaning against the door frame before emptying her stomach into the tub with a moan. She heard him give a disgusted huff of annoyance, and wished for the strength to throttle him.

"Have I been poisoned?" she rasped, and he chuckled again, but it was without any amusement.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Moving into her line of vision to lean against the vanity, he appraised her with disdain. "You’re a mess."

Grunting, she turned on the water, coughing as she laid her head back against the cool smoothness of the tub's edge. "Screw you. Where are we?"

He arched an eyebrow crossing his arms, one hand moving to scratch behind his ear. "We're in someone's home, commandeering it for a bit because of the disturbance you caused last night." His eyes flicked towards her, and she narrowed her own. "What all do you remember?"

"Enough to know that I wasn't the only one who caused a disturbance. I saved your ass!" Her voice rose, and she moved to get up before realizing that was a poor choice with a groan. "I feel like I'm being turned inside out. What is happening?"

Picking at his fingernails with the same self righteous smirk, he spoke in a mock soothing tone, as if she was a small child.

"Well this, Princess, is a hangover. You may have been drinking Pann's jungle juice, but it's still heavy on the alcohol on top of the magic mind control. You got sloshed on the stuff. Drunk like some -"

Her voice interrupted him with incredulity.

"And you," she whispered softly, "brought me back here, safe, and made sure I was alright?"

Oh, we did more than make sure. Tell her vessel; tell her about the lewd thoughts and what you wanted. That should make her sober up or start puking once more!

The Darkness cackled at its remarks as he tensed, and gritted his teeth. "Aye."

Emma let herself breathe a small sigh of surprise, and gratitude. "Thank you."

Something rattled in his chest as she felt pink bloom on the apples of her cheeks. They were both silent for a moment before Killian cleared his throat.

"So. Breakfast. How do you feel about pancakes?"

Emma felt her stomach turn over, the feeling of sickness washing back up into her mouth.

"We're not there yet," she said quickly, before turning back to the faucet and its steady stream of water, getting sick again.

After what felt like hours, Emma took a shower in another of the huge home's bathrooms, unwilling to do so in the unfortunate place she'd spilled the contents of her stomach earlier, even after a thorough cleaning. Instead of pancakes, they found a large slab of cured ham in the larder, along with several wheels of cheese. It would have been better with bread, but they made do with it, Emma's stomach allowing the food even with slight resistance.

"I cannot wait to get back. I want to bury myself in dough and frosting," she told Killian as they tidied up what they could of their obvious stay. He rolled his eyes at that, but had been in a strange mood with her; his normal irritation was laced with playfulness and a softness she had never seen afforded to her. He had made her breakfast from their findings, simple ham with melted cheese, insisting that he knew which of the wheels and which herbs would taste best while not upsetting her stomach further, and had been much less brooding.

More strangely, he did this from a sizable distance, after their conversation in the bathroom in the earlier part of the morning. It was as if he only found her tolerable at a radius of several feet from him. Did the pilfered soap upset his own sensibilities? She didn't have time to ask as he rambled on about their success with Pann, filling in many of the missing pieces of her memory.

"I'm curious though, what all do you remember?" He asked, and she was aware of a question underneath that he didn't speak. Did something happen?

Emma thought back, cautiously wording what she said. "I remember being underwater, drowning in gold, Pann's commands, his fall, and you helping me get here. Did something else happen?"

"No." Killian said quickly, and Wendy's magic made her pause. It was as if something gently pulled at her, a feeling in her gut of wrongness coupled with a sensation of knowing it was a lie. He cleared his throat, and shook his head. "No. You were just extremely drunk which made you even more obstinate than usual."

"I see. I do remember how much magic was in the room, how powerful everything felt. That's really the only thing that is clear. I'm sure more will come back to me if I think on it."

"We should get going soon, it will be noon before we get back, and even on a slow day like today -"

"You don't want Ingrid to worry. That's so sweet." Emma teased, and he couldn't manage a scowl, only a slightly irritated upturn of his lips. "See, I'm right! Don't deny it -"

"We barely survived the wrath of a Sphinx, and a Satyr. They say third time's the charm, and it would give Ingrid the utmost satisfaction to be a means to my end." A twinkle of mischief lit his eyes and Emma laughed out loud before she could help herself.

"She did say she needs a new throw rug." Emma giggled into a coffee mug with a sideways glance. "We could take turns beating you."

"Fresh off a victory and cocky, hm? We'll see how you fair when you tell them you chucked me off a balcony to fall several stories for a sphinx to eat." He pulled the mug from her hands, despite her protests, and she gave a playful glare in his direction.

"I suppose I can accept an accolade for knocking sense into you, even if it is before supper." She kept her tone thoughtful as if actually musing, and he sputtered into the mug with a choked laugh.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian sped them around several locations before they landed in the village, walking down the cobblestone towards the Arendelle shop. They had made good time in their arrival, an hour or so before noontime when the village was still sleepy and still. The princess murmured incessantly about their arrival, about what they should say and how the other women would react to their tale and close call. Her voice didn't grate at him as it usually did, but there was an odd sound in the stillness that made him feel uneasy. As they drew closer, he finally could place what was wrong: the constant hum of the ovens and mixing machines that accompanied the shop were silent.

Had they not opened? That would be completely bizarre; even if they were worried, they would still be baking, possibly more so because of worry. A muffled whimper set his teeth on edge.

Emma looked at him, sense enough to stop chattering but not enough to not question. "What's wro-"

"Be quiet!" Killian snapped suddenly, covering her mouth. Emma made a noise of protest, but it died in her throat when the squawk of another voice reached her ears.

"Where is the Princess? Tell me!"

Killian pulled them into an alley, moving them towards the side of the shop's shed, ducking behind a rusting plow and other tools. In the dim light of the storefront, it was difficult to make out the shapes of the group inside. Feathers caught the slight slant of overcast daylight, a taloned hand lifting Ingrid's chin as she knelt between Elsa and Anna.

Looking to Killian, Emma pulled open her bag where her sword lay hidden while he lifted an old cutlass from the shed’s pile. The princess was remarkably sneaky and quiet, watching as he picked the lock to the delivery door. The voices were louder now, just on the other side of the truck bay.

"We don't know, we honestly don't know -"

"Well, think about where the may have gone!" the bird Goblin squawked in clear agitation. He paced, pointing to a bulging eyed, antlered, rabbit eared Goblin who approached with a raised axe. "Or else I'm trimming your trio down to two."

With a quick touch of his lips to her hand and a nod of his head, Emma and Killian sprung into action.

Of course they had practice sparred, but watching her cut through the Goblins with a fury and brutalism that mirrored his own was akin to dancing. She moved to the negative spaces he had just been in deadly defense, as he played aggressor, until they switched and her perfectly executed parry forced a Goblin to skewer one of his own while Killian gouged a hole into his side.

Their synchronicity was stunning to him, her magic aiding where his uncontrollable waves of the Darkness ended. It freed Ingrid, Anna, and Elsa while he held off another oncoming wave of cobbled together monsters.

The house was in shambles, a fire started in the main living area had now engulfed the bedrooms and had begun to race towards where they fought in the shop front. Ingrid shot through the flames, uncaring, not listening to Anna and Elsa's pleas. Emma turned her head distracted and fumbled slightly, pinned for a moment in which Killian felt an unfamiliar part of himself go deathly cold. He made a wide arc, throwing himself towards her and barreling into the hawk beaked Goblin that had his metal scraping against her steel, watching the creature go flying into the smoke with a bird like squawk.

Offering his hand, he lifted her to her feet, yelling over the commotion.

"Are you alright, love?"

She started to say something, but instead threw herself against his side roughly, sliding to slash a Goblin from neck to navel.

"Fine, just fine!" she shouted back, and he couldn't help but laugh as he continued their assault. Emma's hand grabbed him, and she pointed to the wall of flame. "Ingrid! Go get Ingrid! I've got this."

In the flames Emma’s eyes were almost yellow, a cat's or night predator without fear. There was a pull, low in his belly that was so similar to when they had kissed, a sense of want, pride, and longing that he didn't understand. He resigned to settle it later when they were all safe, and Emma was alone with him again. Giving her own arm a gentle squeeze, he ran towards where Elsa and Anna were trying to battle flames along with Goblin attackers.

Anna's voice was shrill and hysterical as she pointed through the smoke. "Killian, Killian she went in there minutes ago. It’s too hot even with my magic -"

Throwing her his cutlass, he ran through the wall of flame, running up the crumbling stairs yelling for Ingrid. There was no sign of the older woman, the upper floor almost unrecognizable to his gaze. Nemo's study had caved in, the roof giving way to morning sky that let heat warped sunshine through in a surrealistic sight. The floor was splintering, and there was no noise but the crackling and pops of fire on wood as he strained to hear.

A weak cough caught his attention, and he shouldered through where a ceiling beam had pushed the door to Elsa's room almost closed. Ingrid's hand came from under the bed, a bag clutched in it of what she must have been grabbing. Picking it up, he recognized portraits of their family, and what must be treasured mementos of hers, so precious the woman was willing to risk her life for.

Pulling Ingrid out and up on his shoulders while clutching the bag, Killian kicked down the stuck door, the room crumbling behind them with a crash, and ungracefully jumped down the jagged remains of the staircase. Ingrid groaned and coughed, but did not chastise, his worry catapulting into terror.

Breaking through the smoke, he gave Ingrid to Elsa and a blood soaked Anna, Emma covered in thick Goblin blood of different colors as she tried to push back the ten or so that remained.

Emma glanced back to him, relief flooding her face at their return until she saw Ingrid's condition. Handing her blade to Killian and rushing to Ingrid's side, she began to heal the blisters and burns, soothing the woman's lungs. Elsa picked up a disused Goblin blade, the iron hilt wrapped in cloth, and Killian led the charge through the last line of attackers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Goblin with the hawk like beak come up behind Elsa, and time slowed as he tried to get to her, tried to warn her while he carved a path in frantic fear. Anna was yelling too, and he could hear her desperate movement as Elsa turned to see the Goblin advance. Killian was so close he could hear its beak clicking before it let out its screech, the blade in its hand driving through Elsa's back.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Elsa felt the blade, feeling an eerie calmness wash over her as she stood where Anna and Killian were rushing to. She could see the point of it protruding from her chest, felt sick and faint at her heart’s strange contractions as it was pulled back and slid out, only to plunge in again, taking her breath away. The second time when the blade was pulled clean, a foot kicked her spine. Falling was easy, the wet wooden floor of the shop comforting as it caught her. There was no noise now, screams of rage, pain, and anguish giving way into the sound of her body preparing itself to fade into silence.

Elsa felt the warmth of a body next to hers, the push of hands to turn her over, and the noise slammed into her as her upturned chest rattled with the taste of rusty wet. Anna wailed beside her head, Emma and Ingrid holding the younger woman in an attempt at comfort. Elsa reached a hand to her, and felt how heavy her limbs were. She pushed away the shock to stay in this last moment with her family as long as she could. A cool hand joined her on the other side, and blue eyes were filled with panic as Killian yelled at Emma to heal her, to do something; that he should have killed the Goblin while he had the chance before.

When she looked closer at his face, cold and grim, she could tell he knew Emma had no chance of fixing this. Emma could only shake her head and whisper that she was sorry, so sorry, over sudden tears turning into sobs.

The Darkness swirled around Killian like some type of agitated, thorned vine that constricted around his being. Elsa could see it now, mused quietly at how easy it was to see. How had she missed it? It dwarfed his mass, bent him and broke him in ways that hurt her eyes.

She suddenly felt tired, all the way to her marrow. Closing her eyes, she let the coldness that was seeping in start its tugging. Its insistent pulls became more frequent, her time running out.

“You… You all have to go. Run… Leave. You can’t -” Her chest ached, rattling and trying to keep air in her shriveling lungs. “I’m not… No help. Run.”

Ingrid let out a choked sob, reaching forward to stroke her hair. The white blonde strands were streaked and sticky with red. Elsa opened her eyes, and was shocked to see two pairs of blue eyes looking at her. Killian’s were dark, tormented, and glassy. The other pair twinkled with long felt adoration, the look of a man who finally returned home.

“Hello, Ice Queen. It’s been a while.” He smiled, and looked around at the small party surrounding her. His voice was the only one she could focus on clearly. “I’ve missed you, love.”

Elsa’s body felt like it was full of wet sand, frozen by cold water that crashed against her in waves. Smiling slowly through the frost that was making her sluggish, with Liam’s palm warm against her cheek, she pulled her hand away from Killian’s to reach for Liam’s form. In dreams she could never hold him, he slipped through her fingers like wind or water through a sieve. Here, though, as her hand pressed against his chest while he kneeled, she felt his solidity. There were no words for the peace she felt.

“He says…” Happiness bloomed on her face, as the ice faded into weightless warmth. Taking a deep breath of air, she let her eyes close. “Liam says… I should have waited… Waiting never bothered him."

Killian’s voice was broken, and cracked. "No. He would have waited for you forever."

Elsa let out a soft sigh, opening her eyes to look at Killian, and then just behind him. They dulled as she spoke in a strained whisper, Liam’s hands firm as they pulled her into his arms.

“I've waited long enough.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Elsa left Killian, left her sister, aunt, and the useless princess that could do nothing more than shake her head instead of healing Elsa. She had frozen, had not done anything but shake and look at the blood that flooded the ground in time with what had been a heartbeat. The ache he felt in his own chest was a hungry type of hurt that the Darkness begged him to feed, already filling the space where their friendship had been with anger, vengeance, hatred, and wrath. Throwing things together while the shop and house crumbled around them, he watched Ingrid tell the princess and Anna to leave Elsa's body in the flames, to move, and to flee this place before more tragedy could be wrought.

Emma seemed to move stiffly, as if she was half asleep, and the Darkness cackled ever louder as the group wound their way to Kristoff's. The blonde man looked bedraggled as he listened to Anna frantically explain the situation, but was quick to prepare a magic sled of supplies for the remaining Arendelles and himself.

I warned you, didn't I? I warned you someone would be hurt. And right after you thought you had feelings for the person who killed her, the reason for everything wrong in your miserable life!

"Where will you go? Will you be safe? Oh, Ingrid, I -" Emma choked out. Ingrid hugged her tightly and kissed her soot covered forehead.

"Home has luckily always been where my heart is, and my heart belongs with my family. We'll be okay, and so must you be. I want to see you again, Emma. Take care of him. Take care of you. You can do this."

She can't take care of her royal self! Stupid old hag, do you see now that relying on this idea of family has made you weak? You're pitiful, you are so disgustingly lacking in any modicum of strength. Let me help you, let us work together.

Emma nodded, while Killian gave an angry bark of laughter. Before he could speak, Anna was talking. "Elsa loved you like another sister, and so do I. No one blames you, Emma. If they do, they're wrong." Anna's eyes shot to Killian’s face, and he glared. "We will see you again. We love you."

"I'm so sorry. I -"

"Be brave, Emma. That's -" Anna's voice cracked, and she squeezed Emma's hands tightly. "That's what she would want for you."

Their love can't bring Liam back, or Milah, or Elsa; all those men you killed, all the innocent people the Goblins killed using you as their weapon. The princess owes you a blood debt for every single name that lies on your list. She's yours, she's yours to take, use, abuse as you see fit. She deserves it.

Emma and Anna embraced tightly, and then the Arendelles took their seats. Kristoff gave a nod, cracked the reins, and they disappeared into the night on an icy path carved by the magic of the sleigh. When they were gone, Killian jerked her harshly towards the woods where they walked for hours, Emma silent the entire way. She looked shell-shocked, merely hanging on by a thread.

That's it. Make her highness keep up the pace, let her obedient mouth stay shut before we show her what obedience means. Let her challenge you again, and she will find out what a pretty bargaining chip she is - and nothing more.

Killian caught himself casting sideways glances her way, noticing how the color was gone from her cheeks, how she held herself tighter under the shawl Ingrid had given her, and refused to eat the bread they’d grabbed before parting ways.

When she cried under her blankets, he actually felt pity for her. The Darkness scoffed at him, its hatred for her only continually increasing.

She’s a whiny brat. So what if she’s never seen someone die, especially someone she cared for? Everyone has a first. It’s about time her majesty got a taste of what her family doles out. Punish her! Do it!

The whispered retort was louder, shakily more confident now against the roar of the Darkness. It chanted back a strong reply in time with his heartbeat.

It was Elsa.It was Elsa.It was Elsa.It was Elsa.

Elsa wasn't just someone they cared about. Elsa was family.

Emma's cries continued in her sleep, and the Darkness became annoyed, begging Killian to shut her up. He went to shake her awake, but when he heard her whimper Elsa’s name, stopped short. The Darkness clawed at the insides of his skin as he laid down next to her, careful not to wake her, and held her gently.

What are you doing? You complete fool, you harebrained cretin, give me control, give me back the reins of my vessel, you are incompetence embodied -

When the Darkness growled ferally, Killian pushed it with all of his might, caging it for the moment. When to his surprise it didn't claw back at him, he let himself relax slightly. He hummed softly, listening to Emma’s breathing relax as she rested. He closed his eyes, wishing he could dream with her, his own body relaxing as he fell away. Light magic touched him gently, as quiet as a spring breeze.

He woke up after a dreamless sleep, sun breaking and the Darkness crowing with irritation and anger. He’d slept. He’d actually slept. She stirred next to him, lightly snoring, before curling to reach for him. He pulled away, heart pounding in his chest as he went to the nearby stream to wash his face.

The crack of a branch had him raising his sword, the blade touching the cheek of the Goblin Prince, a small trickle of brown falling on his blade from the knick. The Prince raised his hands in supplication, pointing to the very tiny portal behind him.

“I mean no harm. I've spared no lack of Elven magic just so I could come to -”

“To offer a deal? Fuck straight off to the second star, mate,” Killian hissed and to his surprise, the Goblin chuckled. With a sickening feeling, he realized why Nil disarmed him so easily - his smile and laugh were reminiscent of Milah.

“My mother talked about you non stop, you know. My father says that in the end that's what killed her, bearing another man's child. He loved her fiercely but all she wanted was to escape back to you and -”

“Your father stole her and raped her. Don't you dare to romanticize the circumstances of your birth. It's disgusting what you do, how you spurn your own women, make them raise children they are refused, or force them to be laborers.”

Nil cocked his head contemplatively. “These are the old ways, ones that make us strong. Don't tell me that my Future Queen has convinced you otherwise with her radical beliefs; even her parents are opposed to such disregard for the covenants and doctrines that -”

“I believe that every single creature is entitled to love who they choose to, without law or society spitting on them, as long as it is consensual and appropriate. The separation of realms is creating pockets of horror for those who truly want to be free.”

“Oh? And what do you know about freedom, Dark One? They'll never free you. She'll never free you. Not with the potential of what you might do over the realms and this world.” Nil stared at him, smiling broadly when Killian felt his jaw tighten. “You know it's true. I have a… deal to propose to you. I think you will enjoy it.”

“Whatever it is, I repeat, bugger off. Your men killed my sister-in-law -”

“I am sorry for that. I wasn't aware Liam was married, and if we had known… regardless. Give me my Future Queen, and we will hold the dagger, but build this world you seek, that she seeks. Honor Moth- Milah and your brother's sacrifices, honor Elsa’s sacrifice for her family to live in this world, free those in secret chains like yourself. Be the Delivering One, instead of The Dark One. Wield your power, taste your revenge.”

The Darkness in him shuddered in ecstasy at the thought, threads of it warming his blood in pleasure.

“There's no way I can trust you or your word, let alone your father's,” Killian hissed, the Darkness speaking for him.

“Fair enough. You can't trust your companion either, no matter how lovely or kind she seems. My offer stands. Bring her to the Selkie’s cave in Oregon - Seal Rock - that’s in the United States. I'll be waiting there for you to bring me my bride.” Nil smirked, stepping back towards his men with a turn that swirled his feather and fur cloak. “Oh. And should you have any thoughts about the princess or need to coerce her, please don't damage the goods too terribly much.”

His laughter echoed away, until Killian heard the sound of the portal closing and he returned to Emma's side. She was dozing fitfully again, her thrashing a personification of the Darkness roiling inside of himself currently. When he laid next to her, she stilled, breathing going even and quiet.

Honor Milah. He could raze the lands in her name, put Snow and her wretched husband away in the same dungeon he sat in as she died. Emma could go on to be… to be treated just like Gold had taught Nil to treat their stolen brides.

Doesn't the perfect, preening, precious daughter of the ones who locked you away deserve it? Doesn't she deserve the same torture that her family let others suffer through; is it not a fitting punishment?

Glancing down at her, Killian felt the weight of the decision and the familiar pull of Darkness. Could he really abandon Emma to a fate that had claimed Milah’s life?

Yes, the Darkness said without hesitation. Yes, a thousand times yes.

“Maybe,” Killian whispered, and he heard the howl of the void inside him like the shriek of a storm. Emma only kept steadily breathing in her fitful dreams, as Killian found himself once more unable to join her.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma listened to Nil and Killian talk, pretending to be asleep until Killian left her side to get more wood for a fire. He was talking to that thing now, more than she had ever seen him do at Ingrid's. Sometimes she swore she heard its answer; its dry, but oily, wet voice like the sound of teeth scraping against bone and viscera. Several times she shuddered, her throat tight at the idea of that thing in her head, of being left to Nil, of Milah's fate becoming her own. If Killian noticed, he said nothing. She thrashed slightly to make her revulsion read as only another nightmare, which was realistic enough.

When he had ventured far enough away, Emma let herself consider her options.

With a snort of derision and angry tears burning her eyes, she realized she had none directly. Killian was falling deeper into his own hatred, and she was a part of that hatred. Could she say with certainty that he would not betray her? Emma wanted desperately to believe he wouldn't, his friendship one of the last solid pieces in this uncharted territory, if calling their forced alliance “friendship” was not a stretch.

But then again - she did have new friends. The plan that bloomed in her mind was slipshod, but it would allow her surety, and some relief.

That is, if it went right.

So Emma decided to start searching for her newfound friends. Finding Alice and Cheshire (Robyn, she introduced herself politely) was relatively easy since they were already looking for her. Alice was not pure Fae, a human witch and Elf/Fae father giving her a… bizarre set of powers.

"So… You just know?"

"I feel it in my nose, first, like a sneeze coming on. Robyn's been a life saver with her planning," Alice smiled with a blush, squeezing Robyn's hand. Robyn gave her a wide grin, her beaming smile betraying the reason for her nickname, Cheshire. "Before her I would have never thought to have bags ready to go or pre-packed meals. I just sorta winged it."

Killian was still off somewhere, most likely weighing his own options, and Emma couldn't have been more grateful in this one instance that he was nowhere near them. When Alice and Cheshire (now answering to Robyn) appeared from thin air, Emma was so surprised that she called out his name to only have silence answer.

Emma nodded, still too surprised to take this in. "And then you, just… I guess, appear?"

"Usually. Sometimes I do end up a ways from where I'm supposed to be, but Robyn can trace where I am supposed to be easily. It's getting back that's the hard part most of the time. "

"We get a one way ticket, so navigating back from Japan or Australia, or another realm - it isn't easy. It takes years to get back sometimes. Time’s wonky between realms, and sometimes you have to steal a food truck -" Emma's look of confused shock sent both of them into peals of laughter.

"It's a strange life, but I wouldn't trade it for the world." Robyn wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve, and kissed Alice with a giggle. "Although the criteria of 'where she needs to be' does have its quirks. Her poofing to my side when I was sad is good, but her poofing to a store in China for the best batch of Mandarin orange marmalade at the Mandarin Orange festival - yeah, that was an interesting one."

"It was where I needed to be!" Alice laughed. "It's the same quirky power that found you, so don't knock it."

"I know. You'll always find me, and always be stuck with me. That's where you are supposed to be first and foremost and forever." Robyn kissed her knuckles, and Alice laid her head on Robyn's shoulder.

"We're totally 'free love' forgetting to tell her why we came, babe." Alice looked up at Robyn, and she reacted quickly.

"Oh right! I have an old friend who may be able to help," Robyn had begun. “She was supposedly kind of a legend back in the day, way back, for being an enchanted arms and dark magic dealer -"

"But then she was cursed!" Alice interjected excitedly.

"Yes, then she was cursed and -" Robyn tried again, only to be drowned out by Alice once more.

"She's ashamed of what she looks like, and her old ways. If you can help her -"

Emma blanched, clutching her chest. "I could help her? How would I help her do… anything?"

Both Robyn and Alice shrugged. "Maybe you can, but if not, we'll just talk. See if she has any ideas. She's brilliant and very well read."

Emma mulled over their words. By sunset she'd made her decision. She would go with them, but on one condition. Killian had to answer a question for her first.

He returned shortly after midnight, the moon gone dark in the sky, making everything drip with shadows. Emma shivered as he stalked near her, dropping a late stack of wood.

"You couldn't even start a fire? Seriously?" Killian snapped, setting up the logs as Emma watched. "Did they not have time to teach you how, between all the hair braiding and tiara polishing?"

Emma sighed deeply. "Killian, we need to talk."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Despite his bravado, his swagger, and his purposeful litany of lewd remarks, Killian had no experience with the bad portion of relationships with women he wasn't sleeping with or not in his family. Families fought, lovers fought, and they fought about private things in private that were their private secrets. 'We need to talk' still made him nervous.

"We do, do we? What about, love?"

"I asked you before, promise that you won't let that thing take over you, that you won't let it master you when you have control. You told me, 'For now you want to be free, and I will not find freedom within the Darkness." Emma straightened her back and looked straight through him. "Tell me the truth, Killian Jones. Would you betray me? I ask again of you: do you promise that you won't let that thing take over or control you?"

"It's not that easy of an answer, Princess -"

"Yes," Emma said in a gravely calm voice. "It is."

"You're not being controlled by it, by it speaking in your mind, and controlling your body!" he spat, the Darkness already beginning its buzzing whine. "It's not a simple yes or no -"

"Would you betray me?" she asked again coolly. Killian screamed at the sky, pacing before turning back to her.

"No, I wouldn't."

Emma looked at him dead on, her eyes slitted.

"I ask of you again, swear on your brother, swear on Elsa, that you will not betray me. You say you are not the Darkness, and now I need you to prove it. Swear to me that you will not betray me." Raising her chin, she crossed her arms. He was reminded all too much of the royal court, of the silky voices that carried immense gravity in every proclamation.

It made him sick.

The Darkness bubbled up, overflowing and he wasn't in control at all, not in any way. It didn't matter though, truly. They were in agreement, his demon as ready as him to strike.

"You ask me to swear it on Liam, my brother, and Elsa, neither given a proper burial because of Goblin filth that wanted royal penance?" Killian asked, stalking closer to her. To her credit she didn't flinch at his approach, and that infuriated him further. "Fine, Princess. I swear nothing. I won't swear fealty to you or kiss your ring, like some noble cur you can kick around. I'm sorry if that upsets you, but we had an agreement born of nothing but bad circumstances. They’re gone now, so let me tell you how it's going to be."

He smiled crookedly and let the malice he had pushed down rise up. "I do not serve or lease myself to anyone. You should be licking my boot heels clean from as much good will I've given you. From now on, when I say jump, if your response is not 'How high?', I will personally deliver you to Nil wrapped in a bow. The time for making deals is done."

"I have listened to your advice this entire time, followed your lead on how I should survive - we killed someone, we killed Elsa, and I, I couldn't - I can't -"

"Oh no, no no no, Princess. Don't you dare try to push her death on me. She died because of you. I pushed that fucking creature off of you when you should have killed it, and look what that did. I couldn't leave you to die or be wounded, and it's your fault that she's gone; your guilt to seek penance for, not mine. I am guarding that shard of yours and nothing more. I don't give a damn about your feelings, I barely give a damn about you - I am here for my freedom and if that means handing you to the Goblin prince so I can be rid of you and this tether -"

"Elsa was wrong, Ingrid was wrong, there is nothing good in you."

"Why do you think they called me the bloody Dark One, you daft, privileged, whiny, bi -"

"If Nil ever lays hands on me, I will -"

"You'll what? You can't bleed a stone, Emma. You will be at his mercy, a puppet on his strings. You'd be just as trapped as me, but in his bed chamber."

"You always have to remind me of that, don't you? I'm fighting for everyone, including you, but you only see me as the shard, a dumb princess, and Nil's play thing. I am more than that; I am the next Queen! You hate me so much that you're willing to let Milah's history repeat itself again, you disgusting…" She choked on a sob, but Milah's name had sparked more rage like a struck match on black powder.

“On the contrary, Princess," he spat, eyes wild and teeth bared. His hand throbbed and twitched into its crooked, spasming curve. “I don't hate you. I loathe you. It's just desserts that the royal brat and heir to the very throne who left Milah to die gets used in the same way. Poetic even, some might say." Moving away from the princess, he tried to rub the muscle and tendons out with no success, his palm searing.

"You cannot mean that. You cannot tell me Milah would want you to - that Liam, and Elsa - Ingrid, Anna, Nemo, your parents - "

"None of them matter, not one, if they are dead or in the way of getting my revenge. Get your shit together, Princess. We're leaving for the mountains." Gesturing with his twitching hand that was becoming increasingly swollen, he cocked his head slightly with a mocking pout. "Sorry you had to ask and get such a direct answer, M'lady. Why did you just sit there and not tell me you knew about it? Why make it known now that you know about my deals?"

Emma made no move, wiping tears away with quick swipes. “Because I want you to understand why I am going to meet an ally Alice and Robyn think can help me.”

Killian laughed, rolling his eyes with his entire head at the thought. “And you think that you can trust them? Some blonde and her girlfriend?”

“Yes. I know I can trust them.” Emma's tone showed no lack of conviction, a perfectly laid ultimatum without argument. She walked towards the woods, pulling on a small travel pack over her shoulders.

Snarling, Killian strode towards her. “I'm not going with you, I am not letting perfect strangers take us to another stranger on the off chance they might help -”

"Killian." He ignored her, she was ludicrously calm now, as if she had the upper hand.

“-when they are using you, and you are blinded by false sincerity -”

"Killian." He felt off kilter, out of control, an inferno in the eye of a hurricane. She had to listen if they were going to survive.

“-trusting in some form of belief that will get you killed -”

"Dark One!"

"What?" he roared, and looked at her impassive but tear stained face with a sneer.

"I am going alone. Our partnership is hereby dissolved."

"What? No, this is not how this works -"

"Between you and Nil conspiring, your full admittance that all you care about is this shard around my neck, and your non stop reminders of how I… of how much less I am, of my or my family's failings that I would take back in a heartbeat… your constant reminders of what I will be if I'm taken." There was movement behind her, two figures carrying a small lantern. Alice and Robyn appeared from the gloom, holding satchels and a knapsack themselves, viewing him with a mixture of pity and disdain.

Emma nodded at them, and Killian felt frozen, a child caught in a tantrum being told their punishment. Her voice sounded tired as she sighed and brought her eyes to look at him, no longer the busy princess baking to calm her fears. "What do you think Milah would say if… you know what? Never mind. I'm sorry. Go back and live with Ingrid, see the world, wish on a star that Nil marries me. I just. I can't care about you, call you friend, trust you, or even allow myself to be around you. I was… my mother told me that I was to destroy you, to end the Darkness for good, and I have struggled with that since I met you. Lucky for me I guess, that you are just fine destroying yourself without any help."

"Princess - Emma - don't you dare -" He approached quickly, sputtering, anger mounting rapidly at her betrayal.

Emma cast a barrier around herself and the other two women, Killian’s magic hitting it like a tidal wave of gloom, the Darkness trying to crush them in its rage. The mousy Elven girl with glasses opened a portal, flinging a crossbow and arrows on her back, tugging her blonde girlfriend with her. Alice turned to Emma, and Emma motioned an extended finger, asking for just a moment as the light illuminated the enraged man on the other side of her magic. He beat against the wall, sparks flying off his fists as they bounced back, lighting up his face with sparks of blue, gold, cream, and magenta. She couldn't hear his yelling, but the cords in his throat stood out, and she reached out a delicate hand to lay against the crackling barrier.

"When I saw you for the first time, even in your wildness and the absolutely terrible way you treated me, I recognized a sense of kinship in your eyes immediately. Every time I hated you, every time I ignored your nastiness, your pettiness, all the hurt you tried to force on me in the name of my family, I remembered that look and sought it out." Emma tried to smile, managing only a crooked and broken half grimace."I tried… I thought you found it in mine so many times, that deep loneliness and silence that eats you apart like some larvae, only growing worse every day. It's being lost and lonely, so afraid of the future or its meaning for someone. I hope that you know that I forgive you. I hope you forgive yourself; I want you to find something other than fear and anger. You're right, we are both slaves to our masters. Goodbye, Dark One."

Emma turned quickly, going through the portal. A blinding light lit up the shield, and then it dissipated into thin air. Killian fell forward on the hard packed ground, screaming Emma's name into the night sky.

#Hallow #Courtorderedcake #CSSNS #CSSNS 2019 #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

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askmalal · 4 years

Text

“Hello, oh Mighty Malal! I wanna get started in the GW side of the war gaming hobby. Do you have any advice?”

I shall assume that, by the way you’ve phrased it, you are aware that Games Workshop did not invent miniatures was gaming, and that there are plenty of excellent historical, fantasy, and sci-fi games that are not in any way linked to GW or even much like GW games. Yes? Good!

I do think this is an interesting question, and so I’ve posed it to some of my siblings here in the warp.

Khorne: DON’T FORGET THAT SOME OF GW’S BEST WORK IS RELATED TO FANTASY, 40k, AND AGE OF SIGMAR BUT DIFFERENT. WARMASTER, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS ONE OF THEIR MOST BRILLIANT, AND THE RULES AND MANY ARMY LISTS ARE ONLINE.

Me: I’ll just add that many of their best games, whilst out of print, can still be acquired, and there are lots of sources for miniatures if you can’t afford the miniatures specifically designed for the games. I personally enjoy Man of War as much as Warmaster, but it’s been out of print for years. Look into it.

Tzeentch: Also, Warcry and the Horus Heresy rules are fabulous, and very straightforward. Don’t be intimidated by the length of...

Slaanesh: *snickers*

Tzeentch: *sighs* ...the length of rulebooks. But do be aware that GW has never been... errr... ‘great’ at layout. There are many player aid sheets, quick reference sheets (QRFs) and “cheat sheets” to help you navigate.

Nurgle: My advice to you, mortal, would be to read up on the armies and factions that interest you, but to be aware that many, many tournament gamers have written up tactical advice columns that look good but can be misleading. Don’t let a self-described “competitive” player dissuade you from playing with an army or character you love. Malal here loves Saul Tarvitz for some bizarre reason, and the tournament players say he stinks, but Malal plays with him anyway.

Me: I do, yes. This is a fictional game. My own politics don’t enter into it. Good to see how the other half lives.

Nurgle: I enjoy Ogres/Ogors. Tournament gamers don’t. I don’t care.

Hashut: Also, remember that while the hobby can be expensive, there are alternative sources for miniatures, including many things that are designed to be compatible with GW miniatures. Friendly groups are almost always fine with this. In the beginning, GW was too.

Me: Yes, fair to say that most local hobby shops are far more friendly about using modified models and alternative sculpts than the GW stores. That’s not to say that GW prices haven’t slightly improved, but this is not an inexpensive hobby if you go that route (absent what, of course.)

Slaanesh: Recasters? China cast?

Khorne: I SAW THEM IN “RENT,” THEY WERE WONDERFUL.

Me: You saw “Rent?” It’s terrible, isn’t it?

Khorne: BUT THE RECASTERS WERE LOVELY.

Tzeentch: No comment on the ethics of those, not my place to judge. I do not use them. However, it’s your army and your business. I don’t save my Forge World receipts, and if someone demands them, I quickly decide they aren’t worth playing them.

Hashut: If you must use them, do your research. Some are quite honest. Others are super shady. Don’t ask for advice about them from GW. If they won’t give you a list of what they can sell you, a good rule of thumb is not to trust them.

Gary, the Horned Rat: That thing Birdman said is super, super important. Your armies are your business. This is your hobby, and to paraphrase an old saying, these are your troops. Only you have the right to determine what looks good, what plays well, etc.

Me: For the love of gods, please eventually try to paint your minis. Nothing more frustrating than playing against a gamer who spends hundreds on her army, then throws them half finished into a shoebox. You can learn. Take your time. Baby steps. Prime here, do a color there. Just try. It is challenging, but not impossible. You can do it!

Gary: Still, it is your army. If you do want to learn, buy craft store paints, or acrylics. Don’t buy the enamels. They smell terrible, they look terrible, and you will have a much harder time learning to paint with them.

Nurgle: Harsh, but true. If you do want to learn, take tutorial videos with a huge grain of salt. They often make things much, much more complex than they need to be.

Me: True, yes it is your army. Don’t let me frighten you.. about -this-.

Nuffle: Do not eat miniatures.

Me: Well, yes.

Nuffle: No matter how good they look.

Slaanesh: I can’t.. I mean.. why...

Nuffle: I was hungry.

Tzeentch: Please remember: the whole idea is to have fun! Also, if you buy painted minis, the phrase “pro painted” is meaningless. I can poop in a box and call it pro painted. Look before you buy. And take all the time you need to decide.

All: It’s your hobby! There is no wrong way!

Nuffle: Except eating them. Do not eat them. Please.

#askmalal #chaos gods #warhammer30k #horus heresy #age of sigmar #warhammer40k #ask me questions #malal #malice #warhammer the old world #warhammer fantasy

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luckyjak · 5 years

Text

fic: Declaration of Intent (1/5)

“Then it’s settled,” Caleb beamed, pleased with his own cleverness. “We’ve got to find you a husband, before your mother finds you a wife.”

Essik has a problem; Caleb has a solution. Both of them are so good at pretending that their hearts may never recover.

[The Caleb-and-Essik-Fake-Dating/Fake-Engaged-fic you didn’t know you wanted. Shadowgast. Canon-compliant as of episode 63 but probably won't be for long.]

a/n: This is like, the opposite of a slow burn. This is a fast burn: two characters who get together way too quickly and are way too intimate with each before their feelings can catch up.

The rating may also go up as the story progresses, but I don't want to promise something and not follow through on it.

AO3 Link

There was something wrong with the Shadowhand.

It was subtle; from the outside, the man was as composed and as polished as ever. But Caleb had been spending a lot of time with him, and Caleb was nothing if not observant. He was sharper, more critical than Caleb had ever known Essik to be, and while practicing dunamancy was normally one of Caleb’s favorite activities, the afternoon had made it something of a chore. It was in the way Essik moved: his spellwork was...strained, and his concentration waned. He was irritable, and nothing Caleb could do seemed to help ease the irritability, no matter how flawlessly and fast Caleb learned. They had been at this particular spell for hours, and it was beginning to become a problem that would reach a boiling point soon.

“No no no, you are doing it wrong!” Essik snapped, for the fourth time this afternoon. He ran one hand through his cropped hair and the other along the spellbook, tracing arcane ruins with long fingers. “The pronunciation is el-sol-la-de , not el-sal-la-de , you--”

Caleb snapped back. “I would have done that if you said so earlier instead of just handing me a book written in Undercommon and expecting me to just 'figure it out'--”

“I don’t expect you to just figure it out, I expect you to use your brilliantly gifted mind and--” Essik stopped mid-sentence and rubbed his face with his hand, his eyes scrunched shut. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry. I am being unkind.”

You think? Caleb thought, but didn’t say out loud. Instead, he merely nodded in agreement; Essik had been uncharacteristically unkind towards him all afternoon.

“Perhaps we should take a break. I’ve been pushing you hard, and it’s not your fault. Dunamancy is a difficult school of magic to learn even on the best days, and we’ve been going at it for hours now,” The gentleman moved to sit down on the couch in the library/lab, and he gestured for Caleb to follow.

They sat together in quiet stillness for a moment; Essik stared out of the window, lost in his own thoughts, and Caleb stared at Essik. The other man was tired, Caleb realized, and clearly stressed about something, but what the young wizard couldn’t hazard to guess.

“You have been off all day,” Caleb broke the silence, sitting down next to the drow on the opposite end of the couch. “Is everything alright?”

Essik brushed him off immediately. “It is a personal matter. I should not allow it to interfere with my work.”

“What bothers you so?” Caleb tried again, his curiosity peaked. It wasn’t often that he saw the Shadowhand as raddled as much as he was. Essik stopped, his face scrunched in hesitation, which made Caleb wince in sympathy. “If it’s too personal, you do not have to--”

“No,” the drow shook his head. “I should talk to someone about it. And you are a neutral party, from a different culture. Perhaps you could advise me in ways others could not.”

Caleb bowed his head slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Right. I, uh,” the Shadowhand stumbled with his words uncharacteristically, stilling looking not at Caleb but at the dark window, as if it might hold the answer he was looking for. “I’m getting married.”

Oh . That was unexpected. “Congratulations?” He said, hesitantly. The thought of Essik getting married was...unanticipated.

Of course Essik would be getting married, Caleb thought with uneasy queasiness. He was a powerful, beautiful young man, with an important career and a lot of political influence. Of course he would have caught the attention of someone special, somebody young and beautiful, somebody not at all like Caleb.

“It is not my choice,” Essik bit his lip, turning his attention away from the window and looking at Caleb’s face once more. “You know I am--young, right? Not compared to you and your kind, but in elvish terms I am barely grown,” Caleb nodded in agreement. It was difficult to comprehend 200 years old as a young person, but when a species lived to be in the thousands, it was easier to acknowledge. “I’ve accomplished a lot in my short life, which is made even more impressive given that my soul is not consecrated, and this is only my first life. But, ah, my amille , my mother, she, ah, thinks I need to wed. For the good of House Theylas.” The drow shook his head in disagreement. “She’s arranged for me to meet with and betrothed myself to a young woman from Den Olios, and I--I do not wish to.”

“Because you do not like this young woman?” Caleb venture a guess.

“Because I do not like any women,” Essik’s face flushed a darker purple, and he hid his face in his hands. “For a woman who has lived 800 years and three separate lifetimes, you’d think my mother would understand that!”

“Ah,” Caleb winced in sympathy. “Admittedly, I still do not know much about your culture. Is such a thing frowned upon?”

He wanted to ask Essik, since he apparently didn’t like women, if preferred the company of men, but he didn’t want to assume. For all Caleb knew, the Shadowhand was like Caduceus, and didn’t want to be with anyone, no matter their gender. A small part of Caleb--a part he didn’t like to acknowledge--rather hoped that the Shadowhand did prefer men.

Men like Caleb, even, although that part remained wisely unsaid.

He also wondered if Essik’s face would always be such a delightful shade of dark purple. “It’s not frowned upon. Ah, we are a reincarnation society, right? So sometimes a pair of veru come back the same gender as before, or different. My father, he was a man when he married my mother, but when he was reborn he came back as a woman. She and my mother are no longer together, because they never vowed atemay , but they could be together if they wanted to, yes? It doesn’t matter that they are both women.”

Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “But it matters that you don’t wish to marry a woman?”

Essik sighed. “It--it does. It’s--it’s important for there to be children, yes? Especially in powerful dens, there needs to be heirs, because we reincarnate. Because I am the highest ranking member of my family, I’m considered Den Theylas’s heir, despite being my mother’s youngest child.”

It was starting to make sense to Caleb. “Because you are the Shadowhand.”

“Because I am the Shadowhand,” Essik repeated with a groan, leaning over to place his head in his hands. “I could--I could solve everything if I just stopped being the Shadowhand. My sister Meela would be my mother’s heir then, and Meela is already married with two children.”

That sounded like a terrible solution to Caleb. “But you don’t want to stop being the Shadowhand.”

“I love my job,” Essik agreed, with a pained expression. “What I do is important, to the Dynasty, to the Bright Queen, and to the study of dunamancy. I would hate to leave it.”

The thought was curious, however. “What would you do then, if you weren’t the Shadowhand?”

“I don’t know,” Essik answered honestly. “It wouldn’t be this, though,” he gestured around the room to where he and Caleb had spent most of the afternoon training and studying. A lump began to form in the back of Caleb’s throat at the thought of what Essik was implying: if Essik was no longer the Shadowhand, he would not be the person assigned to watch over and guide the Mighty Nein. Someone else would take his place.

Caleb tried to imagine somebody else in Essik’s role as their guide. In his mind, he pictured someone who would be less kind to their diverse group of adventurers. Someone who might have a problem with the fact that they planted a giant tree on the roof, or someone who would take issue with the fact that Caleb and Beau were humans. Someone who wouldn’t teach him dunamancy, and someone who wouldn’t be nearly as amused as Essik often was at their antics.

Someone less attractive, almost certainly, and that was reason enough for Caleb to protest. “Well, we cannot have that, then.”

“But I don’t know what else to do ,” Essik sighed, his head hung down low. “My mother is the Den Mother for all of Den Theylas. She’s an incredibly powerful Warlock and an uncanny politician. More importantly, she’s very good at getting what she wants, and she’s been trying to arrange a marriage for me for years. I’ve outsmarted her before, but I don’t know...I don’t know how to get out of it, this time.”

Caleb leaned over closer to Essik, so that his knee was barely brushing against Essik’s. “Is there anyone else you could get help from? Would the Bright Queen assist you in any way, if you appealed to her? You serve on her Council--surely that must account for something.”

“The Bright Queen and my mother have been friends since before I was born,” Essik shook his head. “If I went to her with this, she would side with my mother, and then I’d really have no hope. The Bright Queen’s word is law.”

“Could you suggest an alternate partner? Maybe the young lady from Den Olias has a brother?”

“She doesn’t, I’ve already looked. And if my mother is the one doing the arranging, then all she will care about is me having an heirs,” Essik rubbed his wrist with concern. “Which means a--a lady, a wife.”

“Which you don’t want.”

“I prefer men,” Essik confessed, and Caleb stomach flipped a bit happily. He had assumed, given Essik’s dilemma, but it was still nice to know he and the Shadowhand had that in common. “Sexually. Romantically. I don’t dislike women. But I cannot imagine myself ever being in a relationship with one. At least happily.”

It was a shame, too, because Essik was quite handsome, in Caleb’s opinion. It would be a terrible waste: Essik, with his beautiful smile and sharp chin, trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to spend--however obscenely long it was that drow lived for--with a woman he didn’t know and didn’t love.

At least if the girl in question were human, he’d only have to wait less than a tenth of his lifespan.

Oh.

A surge of brilliance struck through Caleb as an idea slowly began to take form. “What if you were already promised to another?”

That caught Essik’s attention. “How do you mean?”

“Could your mother marry you off if you were already engaged to someone else?” Caleb asked, his knees brushing against Essik’s on the couch.

Essik paused, his mouth frowning. “No--I, no, she couldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, polyamory is a thing here,” Good to know. “But once a bond has been established, no one outside of the bond can decide to extend it, no matter how much influence they may have.”

“Then it’s settled,” Caleb beamed, pleased with his own cleverness. “We’ve got to find you a husband, before your mother finds you a wife.”

Essik smiled at him softly, but it was not the overjoyed ‘ah, Caleb, you are so terribly brilliant’ smile Caleb had hoped it would be. “I wish it were that simple,” Essik shook his head. “But my mother is crafty . She will want to interrogate whoever I’ve chosen to marry, and she would have to approve of the match in order for it to go through. And I have,” he looked outside of the window at the dark day out there, “very little time to find someone.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essik. “Would your mother ever accept a human?”

“You can’t be serious,” Essik breathed, catching on with the finer, unsaid aspects of Caleb’s plan.

“Why not?” Caleb shrugged. “We work well together. Better yet, we can convince the rest of the Nein to collaborate with our story. No one will argue too much with the Heroes of the Dynasty, no?” The red head leaned back on the couch, stretching slightly. “I have no other prospects for the moment. And I live a much shorter lifespan than you.”

“You are serious,” Essik’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “Widogast, that’s insane.”

“Why?”

“ Why? Lots of reasons!” The drow exclaimed, jumping up from the couch so he could pace the room. “We barely know each other! We’re--we’re from different worlds , two different countries, different cultures, different races--we can’t--we couldn’t possibly convince my mother that we were lovers, much less engaged! I’ve known you less than a month!”

“People do crazy things all the time, especially when they are in love,” Caleb smirked at his teacher. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

The Shadowhand turned to glare at him with his arms crossed. “I’m a little less than two hundred years old. What do you think?”

Caleb thought a lot of different things, and could have said as much, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and walked closer towards Essik. “It’s just a con, you know? Just a bunch of lies told together, to tell a semi-plausible story.” He stepped even closer towards Essik, until the two of them were face to face. It might’ve just been the atmosphere of their conversation, but Caleb felt taller than Essik for once. “You mean to tell me that you, Essik Theylas, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, spymaster of the Dynasty, have problems lying?”

Essik flung his arms apart, poking Caleb in the chest. “It’s not my ability to lie that concerns me, Widogast. It’s yours .”

Caleb couldn’t help but chuckle. “Believe it or not, Shadowhand, but I’m quite an experienced con-artist. Nott and I used to run a con similar to this back before we joined up with the rest of the Nein, actually.”

Essik raised an eyebrow. “You and the little goblin girl used to pretend to be married for an extensive period of time?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the same,” Caleb blushed, stretching the back of his head. “ I--I, uh, pretended to be her father, actually.”

“Ah. And how did that go?” Essik looked a little impressed, though still a bit skeptical.

“It worked, for a while. Better in some towns than others. Made a decent amount of money at it. Kept us fed and dry. Certainly worked longer than this particular con would need to.”

Essik shook his head, turning away from Caleb and staring down at his feet. For a moment, Caleb had the strangest thought that the man was about to leave , just walk out of the Xhorhouse and never come back. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned back to face Caleb, his expression cold and methodical, as if their conversation was a game, and he needed to think 2000 steps ahead of Caleb in order to win.

“And what, exactly, do you get out of this, Caleb Widogast? I doubt you are willing to help me this much out of the kindness of your heart.”

Caleb shrugged. “I figure the Shadowhand of the Dynasty owing me a favor is a good thing to have.”

“None of that,” Essik snapped, stepping closer to Caleb. “I don’t play those games. Be specific about what you want, or stop wasting my time.”

Damn . Caleb had hoped to get by with a favor. A favor could be anything; a favor was negotiable, depending upon what the party in question was asking for.

Well, he’d just have to make due, then. He stepped closer to Essik, until the two gentlemen were face to face, merely breaths apart. “I figure as your husband, I might have access to your spellbook,” Caleb breathed, his face inches from Essik’s own. “You know. What’s mine is yours and all that.”

“Absolutely not,” Essik’s face flushed with what was quickly becoming Caleb’s favorite shade of dark purple. “I have some very powerful, very confidential spells--I could never just give you my spellbook.”

“But you could let me look at the rest,” Caleb gave a counteroffer. “Hide the confidential parts, and let me study at my leisure.”

The drow took a step back away from him, lost in his own thoughts. Caleb could tell he was considering the idea, and he tried not the get too giddy at the prospect.

Conversing with Essik like this was...exhilarating, in a way nothing in his life had been since he had been at the Academy. He had missed this, he realized suddenly. Verbally sparring with someone of equal intelligence was a game he had forgotten he missed.

It reminded him of how he used to talk with Astrid, actually. But that was a thought to analyze at a different time.

“Or you could get married,” Caleb teased, perhaps a bit mean, his thoughts returning from his former flame. He turned away from Essik, running his hand along the table in the center of the room, taking his time as he spoke. He could be terribly patient when he needed to. “You know, if the lady from Den Olios looks anything like the Den Mother Zethris, she’ll be quite beautiful. You’ll have that to work in your favor at leas--”

“The whole book,” Essik interrupted, stretching out his hand for Caleb to take. “Minus the confidential parts. And only while I’m around for you to copy it.”

Caleb grinned, and shook his hand firmly. “It’s a deal, then.”

“And if you blow yourself up with time magic, well, that’s just one less thing for me to worry about,” Essik grimaced, letting go of Caleb’s hand. He turned his back on Caleb, turning towards the table in the center of the room, with spellbooks and scrolls still opened up to various different dunamantic spells. Methodically, Essik began packing up, putting each book and scroll back in it’s case.

“It wouldn’t have to be real, you know,” Caleb offered, his voice quiet as he followed the drow around the room. “The Mighty Nein, we are planning to leave for a bit anyway. Have an errand to run in Nicodranas. You could try and find a legitimate partner while I’m gone, and we could, ah, break up when I return,” Caleb seemed unbothered by the prospect. “Or you said it yourself, that polyamory is a thing here. If you found another whose company you preferred, I would not be opposed. Or we could separate, after a time. When you thought it was safe,” Essik didn’t answer him.

Caleb watched Essik as he meticulously placed several books back into his bag, seemingly intent on ignoring Caleb. “That is a thing here, right? Divorce?” Caleb asked with genuine curiosity. If it wasn’t, perhaps that would be why Essik was so hesitant. “When two married people don’t want to be together anymore, they can separate legally?”

“We call it annulment, but yes, that’s a thing here,” Essik paused his packing momentarily to look back at Caleb. “It’s not terribly common, but it does exist. It--it wouldn’t be out of the question for me to seek an annulment.”

“Then perfect!” Caleb beamed, clapping his hands together. “We get married, you let me copy your spellbook, your mother gives up on finding you the perfect bride, and then we go our separate ways as friends and--”

Essik kissed him.

It was strange, being kissed by Essik. Sure, the drow man was incredibly attractive, but Caleb hadn’t thought to ever do anything about that, beyond a nighttime fantasy or two. What started as a simple press of lips quickly grew more passionate, as Caleb opened his mouth, and Essik opened his. Caleb was pushed with his back up against the table, as Essik had one hand flat against the table and the other crawling across the length of Caleb’s back. Caleb kept his hands pressed in the space between Essik’s neck and jawline, fingers tracing upwards towards white hair and pointed ears.

Essik kissed Caleb the same way lightning came with a storm, sudden and unexpected, a hot surge of energy radiating against Caleb’s skin. Caleb felt like his entire body was on fire; each place the drow kissed or touched left smoldering in its absence.

He didn’t know how long they kissed for. But they had to breathe at some point. Essik pulled away slow, then rested his forehead against Caleb’s own. “Well. That was nice.”

“Were you concerned?” Caleb asked, catching his breath, his back made uncomfortable by the way the table was digging into it, but unwilling to move any farther out of Essik’s embrace.

“Of course. I had to make sure we were compatible in that way,” Essik was teasing him, although it was hard to tell based on how serious his voice sounded. “For all I knew, you were a bad kisser. I couldn’t marry you if you were a bad kisser.”

“Hmm, well,” Caleb grinned, licking his lips where Essik’s had been moments ago. “Glad I passed the test.”

Essik smiled at him, a little coyly, and then kissed Caleb on the forehead. “I would not ask anything of you that you would be unwilling to do.” The drow promised, both of his hands on Caleb’s cheeks. “But my mother has a soft heart. If she thought I genuinely loved someone, she would support me, no matter who they were. We--we would need to convince her that we were in love, though.”

More kisses then. In public, where people could see. Certainly, there were worse things than kissing a handsome man in public. Caleb nodded, and bit his lip at the thought of kissing Essik again. “Ja. I can do that.”

“And--drow society is not always kind to outsiders,” he ran one hand down the side of Caleb’s face. “You would-- I would expect my cousins to be better people, but I cannot promise that they would not be unkind to you. There would be--rumors and gossip, always . My immediate family in particular may not be warm or friendly, especially at first.”

“It is nothing worse than what I have already endured,” Caleb confessed. Given everything he had already lived through, he could handle a few gossiping tongues. “And you are teaching me dunamancy. I feel it is only fair for me to help you given how you have helped me.”

Essik smiled, reaching out and taking Caleb’s hand into his own. “Your hand in marriage, in exchange for dunamacy lessons?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Well, when you put it that way--”

“I am being serious,” Essik said softly. “You don’t know how much this means to me. You,” he stopped and squeezed Caleb’s hand. “If this works, you’ll have saved my life.”

Caleb could tell he meant those words. Whether that meant Essik would have ended his own life to avoid a loveless marriage, or if he just meant that his life wouldn’t have been worth living, Caleb couldn’t tell.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Caleb whispered. “I don’t--I am not always the best at realizing what that is at times, but I know this is right. I would want someone to do the same for me, if I were in your shoes.”

Essik kissed him again, softly this time, and he pulled away far quicker than Caleb would have liked. Instead, he took Caleb’s hands and brought them to his lips, kissing both hands, one, and then the other. “You bring me honor by considering me as a partner.”

His words sounded solemn, like those of a vow, but Caleb didn’t know the context beyond that. It felt important, however, so Caleb remained silent, and let Essik speak. “I promise you loyalty, first to my Den, of which you will become a part, then to my Dynasty, and lastly to our line, that it may be prosperous. I promise you hearth and health, for as long as I am able to provide it, and that you may always have a home in Den Theylas, no matter what life you take on next. Above all, I promise to be your partner, in life and in love, through failure, sorrow, triumph, and joy, so long as you should have me as your husband,” Essik’s face glowed slightly. He then took off his cloth belt, and wrapped the fabric tightly around Caleb’s right wrist.

They were quiet for a moment as Caleb admired the newfound cloth bound tightly along his wrist. It was dark in color, like most of the clothes Essik wore, but it was silk, a nice fabric, and there was a recognizable emblem of Den Theylas sewed on it. The wrapping was tight, but not uncomfortable, and in hindsight, Caleb had seen others with their wrists bound like this that he had passed on the street. It’s like a ring, he thought, and felt his cheeks color. “I don’t know what to say.”

“ Yes is the preferred answer, given that this was your idea,” Essik kissed his clothed hand again.

“Yes, then.”

“I imagine the Empire has a slightly different traditional proposal?”

“It’s much simpler,” Caleb felt his face flush. “But, ah, seems less romantic in comparison.”

“What’s it like?” Essik asked with curiosity, and Caleb recognized the gleam of someone who wanted to learn as a kindred spirit.

He knelt down on one knee before Essik, taking the other man’s hand into his own. “Will you marry me?” He asked, fully aware of how red his face was. Essik didn’t seem to mind, as he was still smiling at Caleb.

“Oh, much simpler,” the drow grinned, squeezing Caleb’s hand. “Yes.”

“Traditionally, I’d have a ring, too, but you caught me a bit off-guard.”

“Any ring?” Essik asked, taking one off his fingers and offering it to Caleb, who was still kneeling.

“ Nein , not quite,” Caleb laughed, putting the gold ring back on Essik’s hand, the mimicry of an actual proposal. “It should be something we pick out together.” He stood up and kissed Essik again, softly and quickly, the way he might’ve if he had actually proposed to someone.

For a moment, he imagined that it was real. That he and Essik had fallen deeply, madly in love, in such a short time that they’d known each other, and decided tonight to promise themselves to each other. He could picture it, easily. The drow shly inviting him to dinner, late one evening after a long day of dunamancy practice. After an evening of witty banter and stimulating intellectual arguments, they’d retire to Essik’s private library, where the Shadowhand would try to impress him with his collection. But for once in his life, Caleb would be more distracted by his partner than he would be the collection of books. They’d kiss then in the library, hesitant at first but growing until the late hour demanded Caleb return to the Xhorhouse, alone but gifted with an overactive imagination and the promise of a second date.

After that, their relationship would move quickly; soft, hesitant kisses exchanged for evenings spent in one another’s bedchambers. When they were exhausted, they’d trade stories and secrets to one another. In his mind, Essik accepted every dark thing Caleb had ever done, and promised to help him figure out the dunamatic magic he needed to achieve his goals.

The Mighty Nein would love him; hell, the Mighty Nein already liked Essik, a lot. He was the first invited guest into their home, and Caleb imagined that it would not take much to invite him into the fold, the way they had done with Yeza. He would get teased, of course; “Cay-leb has a boy-friend~” Jester would sing, and Caleb would blush, but Essik would be beside him, squeezing his hand gently, and it would be worth it.

It just made Caleb wish the fantasy were real , that’s all.

“I suppose the only thing left to do is to tell the family,” Caleb smiled, shaking himself out of his daydream. “Mine and yours.”

“Tomorrow night,” Essik promised, suddenly solemn. “My Den is having a gathering tomorrow night. I--if you would do me the honor of escorting me, I thought we could make the announcement there. And you could meet my family, such as they are.”

“We need to talk more before then,” Caleb agreed, leaning down to lace his fingers with Essik’s. “Get our story straight, decide on what we want to tell them. It will be easier if we go in with a plan.”

“I’d love to,” Essik let go of his hand. “But not right this second. We’re hardly alone right now, darling.”

Caleb hadn’t noticed, but at some point in the past few minutes, Yeza Brenatto had opened the door to the library, and was staring at them sheepishly.

“So, you and Essik are getting married?”

“Ja.”

“But not for real?”

“Only...sort of for real?” Caleb shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the War Room. “It’s so Essik doesn’t have to go through with an arranged marriage.”

“Are you in love?” Jester asked, teasingly.

“If anyone asks, yes.” Caleb winked at her, conspiring. “We are trying to make it look convincing.”

“Because Essik’s mother is terrible?” Beau added. “And doesn’t want him to marry a boy?”

“She wants him to have children, yes. Whether she takes issue to him marrying a boy specifically, that I do not know.”

“That’s real shitty of her,” Beau practiced punching her fist into her palm.

Caleb nodded. “I agree. It’s part of why I’m helping him.”

“Do you even like boys?” Fjord asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice. “I’ve never known you to flirt with... hell , anybody, really.”

“I like boys,” Caleb confessed. “And girls. Generally, I like pretty people. I am not terribly picky when it comes to partners.”

“That’s what Molly used to say,” Yasha smiled sadly.

“Well, he was a smart person.” And a pretty one, Caleb thought but didn’t add.

“But you used to have a girlfriend.” Nott accused him.

He didn’t particularly want to talk about Astrid again. “And now I have a boyfriend. Husband. Fiance. Whatever,” Caleb waved them off. “We’re just pretending, anyway.”

“Cause Essik’s mom is a huge homophobe and we’re not about that?” Beau grinned, spinning around in her chair. “I’m into this plan.”

“Your involvement in this plan is minuscule.”

“Still into it.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus smiled into his cup of tea. “I think you and Essik will make each other real happy.”

Caleb frowned at the firbolg. “We, ah, we are only pretending to be a couple, Mr. Clay.”

“Real happy,” Caduceus repeated, and with such seriousness that Caleb wondered if he spoke the truth, or if he knew something about the future that Caleb didn’t.

Yeza raised his hand in the air like a well-trained student, unlike the rest of the Mighty Nein who had talked all at once all over each other. “Mr. Caleb, sorry, but I have a question. Wouldn’t it be better for Mr. Essik to marry both Lady Olios and yourself? You said polyamory was a thing,” he shot a look that Caleb didn’t follow towards Nott. “Wouldn’t that solve the problem better? Then his mother wouldn’t be angry.”

“I believe that he doesn’t want to do that, so we’re not going to. But it’s a good suggestion if everything goes to shit.”

“Follow up question,” Beau raised her hand, mimicking Yeza. “Is Lady Olios hot, and can Essik introduce me to her?”

Caleb sighed. “ Beauregard.”

He didn’t get the chance to chastise her further. There was a knock on the door that then opened, revealing a slightly flustered Essik. “Sorry. I know I said I was leaving, and I am , but I had a thought,” he smiled at Caleb warmly, and walked over and kissed his cheek. “Hi babe.”

Caleb winced. “ Nein . I hate it.”

“Honey?” Essik tried instead while Jester cooed at them.

“Even worse.”

“Alright. No pet names,” Essik shrugged. “I just wanted to know, do you happen to have a cloth of some sort? Something with your family’s sigil on it? It should really have your den’s emblem on it, but I was under the impression the Empire didn’t really have Dens like the Dynasty does.”

“Ah,” Caleb looked down at his Essik’s bare wrist. “For your wrist, I assume.”

Essik raised an eyebrow. “To show that I am promised to another, yes.”

“I thought we weren’t meeting your family until tomorrow night.”

“We aren’t. But I thought wearing a band now would start the rumors going at least.”

Caleb didn’t look up from the floor, feeling his cheeks burn red, as they had so often in the drow’s presence. “I, uh, I do not have a family, Essik. So I do not have any sort of cloth with my family’s insignia on it. I don’t--”

“He has a clan, though,” Fjord interrupted him unexpectedly, standing tall. “ Us . The Mighty Nein. Would that work?”

Caleb felt a surge of pride rush up into his chest. He may not have a family anymore, but he had the Nein, and that was--that was something.

Essik raised a curious eyebrow. “Do you have a cloth with the Nein’s insignia on it?”

The seven individuals (plus Yeza) who made up the the Mighty Nein all shared a look. “Not right now,” Yasha spoke first. “But I can sew.”

That was a little unexpected, but the barbarian was full of many hidden talents.

“So can I!” Jester added.

“Excellent!” Essik beamed. “It doesn’t have to be large. About yea big. You can use mine as an example,” he held up Caleb’s wrist to show the band off, his thumb placing emphasis on the emblem of Den Theylas. “The important part is that people will see it and recognize that I’m being courted by a member of your Den.”

Jester and Yasha shared a look. “We can come up with something, Caleb!” Jester offered excitedly. “That way Essik has something to wear to show off the fact that he loves you and totally wants to be your husband and that you guys are going to get married and adopt like, all of the babies, and--”

Caleb held his hand up to cover his eyes. “Jester, there can be no dicks on it.”

(“What.” Essik asked with disbelief, his eyes going from his pretend fiance to Jester and back again. “ What?”)

The tiefling immediately deflated, collapsing back into her chair with a pout and her arms crossed. “Not even a little one? Just a teeney tiny little dick?” She tried to bargain, her fingers almost pressed together in simulation of the size. Caleb shook his head no, and she huffed in response. “What could we even use as a symbol for the great Den Mighty Nein if not a tiny dick?”

Essik nearly collapsed on the floor, he was laughing so hard. “A tiny dick!” He laughed, his face a dark purple. “How scandalous! Truly, I’m marrying up in this world.”

Caleb scowled, his face still pink, and shoved his pretend fiance towards the door. “Go away. Go, do your job or something. Make enough money to support me and our nine adopted children.”

“ Nein ,” Essik howled, still laughing even as Caleb closed the door to the War Room behind him. (Or maybe it was “ Nine???” like the Shadowhand couldn’t possibly imagine his and Caleb’s imaginary union resulting in nine adopted children. It didn’t make a difference to Caleb.)

“Well, now I gotta sew a little dick on there,” Jester argued, leaning back dangerously in her chair, her arms still crossed sourly. “I’ve never seen him laugh before.”

Neither had Caleb. But he was eager to see it again.

“Are you sure about this, Caleb?” Yasha asked, questioning. “Marriage is a big deal. I know you can separate whenever you want,” she brushed her hand aside, like she didn’t quite believe what Caleb had told her. “But it’s still a big commitment. And it’s a big thing, living with someone. You really get to know them, the good and the bad.”

“I live with you all currently,” Caleb argued. “It hasn’t changed much.”

“It’s different, when you share a bedroom. And a bed,” Yasha continued. “I don’t think you are taking this seriously enough.”

“And I think all of you are underestimating what a boon it would be to have the Shadowhand’s favor,” Caleb glared a bit, leaning over the War Table. “We have been wanting to ally ourselves with the Krynn. This is just another way of doing that.”

Without speaking, Nott stood up and crawled onto the table. She walked across the War Room table, bare goblin feet trending on oak wood, until she stood face to face with Caleb. By standing on the table and with him leaning over, she was eye level with him in a way she normally wasn’t.

She took his face into her hands, and cradled it gently. “Caleb. You deserve to marry for love, sweetheart. Not political favor.”

“It’s sweet that you think anyone could ever love me, given what I’ve done,” he rested his forehead against hers.

“Caleb ,” She admonished, pulling away from him. “ I love you. Everyone here,” she gestured around to the others seated at the table. “Loves you. What makes you think that there isn’t someone out there who could love you, too? Romantically even?”

He pulled away from her further. “Nott. I’m going to marry Essik. I’m sorry if you disapprove--”

“On the contrary,” Nott interrupted him. “I like Essik. I like Essik for you, even. He’s a good boy who has supported us when we’ve needed him to. He’s smart, he’s handsome, he’s loyal. He’s everything I could ever want for you. But,” she reached out for him again. “You don’t love him, Caleb. And you deserve to have someone who loves you, like I love Yeza,” she looked back at her husband, who was smiling at her, full of pride.

“Nott has a point, Caleb,” Jester added, her voice a little sad and a little soft. “You should marry for love. In every book I’ve ever read, love is like, the greatest thing that’s out there, and Nott just made me really sad thinking that you don’t think you deserve to be loved? How could you?”

“Hang on just a second,” Fjord shook his head, a confused look on his face. “What are we even talking about love for, anyway? Caleb’s a grown man, and it’s his decision. He does Essik a solid by marrying him, and gets to learn fancy drow magic and we get in even better with the Bright Queen? I’m not seeing a downside.” Fjord rested his elbows on the table. “Maybe Caleb and Essik don��t love each other, but Essik doesn’t love this drow girl, either, and it’s not fair to make him have to get married to her if Caleb backs out of this.”

“Bingo,” Beau threw her thumb towards Fjord. “Essik’s been good to us. Better than we expected. We should help him if we can. I’m on team marry-the-pretty-drow-boy”

“I was too, until Nott started talking about how he should marry for love and stuff!” Jester argued.

“Regardless,” Caduceus stood up, scooting his chair back, towering over everyone at the table, including Nott who was still standing on the table. “It’s Caleb’s decision, ultimately. And we’ll support you, no matter what you decide.” He walked over to where Caleb was standing, and squeezed his shoulder firmly.

“I have already agreed to this,” Caleb held out his banded wrist for everyone to see, the symbol of his engagement to Essik on display. “I’m going to follow through with it.”

“Good for you,” Caduceus patted his shoulder again. “We leave for Nicodranas in five days. Do you think you’ll still be able to join us?”

“I should,” Caleb removed Caduceus’s hand from his shoulder. “I already told Essik that that was our plan.”

“Excellent!” Caduceus grinned. “I need more tea.”

With that, the large firbolg left the room, and one by one, the Mighty Nein followed, until only Caleb and Nott were still in the War Room.

“Nott---” He shook his head. “It likely won’t be forever. Either I’ll find someone, or more likely, Essik will, and we’ll separate. This is just one way I can help him and further my goals, all at once.”

“I know,” Nott said sadly, and patted his cheek again. “I just hope you don’t get your heart broken in the process.”

You could not break what you did not have, Caleb didn’t say. But he followed her out of the room regardless.

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essik theylas #mighty nein

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